The camera slowly fades in from black. We see a close-up shot of gravel crunching under high-performance tires. When the camera finally pans out, it reveals a blood-red hummer limousine with license plates that read “CORP”.

The limo driver steps out, slowly but surely, dressed like in a black butler’s suit. He walks back to the rear passenger door, before opening it to reveal….

CHARLIE NICKLES!

The Nickleman steps out of the limo in a full suit of his own, with polished dress shoes and slicked-back hair to boot! A bevy of diamond-studded rings rest on The Nickleman’s fingers, but the ‘BIG GOLD’ rests perfectly upon his shoulder. Charlie stands tall once he’s out of the limousine, taking in a deep breath of fresh air: and revealing his brand-new set of pearly whites in the process!

A moment later, the driver moves to the rear lift of the hummer and hits a button. Hydraulic whirring cuts through the ambient noise. The lift lowers slowly, revealing Peter Principle, sitting in a motorized wheelchair. His facial expression is frozen with a look of disdain, his face completely paralyzed since The Black Rainbow’s attack. A slight sliver of drool drips down Peter’s chin as his hand rests upon a silver service bell bolted to the wheelchair’s armrest.

Charlie walks over and gently places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, leaning forward and towering over the now disabled General Manager.

“You ready to get back to work, boss-man?”

‘DING!’

Peter rings the bell once as a sinister grin curls across The Nickleman’s lips.

Charlie waves away the limousine driver before he wheels Peter into the building himself. The camera follows behind them at a low angle as the hummer drives off, capturing only the click of Charlie’s newly polished shoes and the steady whir of Peter’s new chair.

INDEPENDENCE EVE 07 - 03 - 2025 LIVE FROM THE MALL OF AMERICA BLOOMINGTON, MINNESOTA INDEPENDENCE EVE MINI-TOURNAMENT MISTER OZ - vs - RAZOR BLADE - vs - LATOYA HIXX Triple Threat Winner faces Winner of XXXVI vs KEETON at Leap of Faith For the Number One Contendership to the Revolution Title INDEPENDENCE EVE MINI-TOURNAMENT XXXVI - vs - JC KEETON Singles Winner faces Winner of Opening Triple Threat at Leap of Faith For the Number One Contendership to the Revolution Title BIRTHDAY WISH MATCH XWF Xtreme Championship SOLOMON KLINE © - vs - TOMMY WISH Both Solomon and Tommy must declare a match rules stipulation of their choosing in their promotional material. Will they get their wish? Jimmy makes the final decision! Singles? Maybe? HARDCORE HEAVEN FRANCES MARIGOLD - vs - MICHEAL GRAVES (CONCEIVABLY) (Non-Title) Tables Match An ominously large stack of tables will be set up precariously, suspiciously, in a spot where someone might get thrown from the second floor balcony for a dramatic finish! TWIN CITY CONTENDERSHIP MATCH (Non-Title) "KING" JUSTIN YORK w/ Any Active PWValor Superstar of his Choosing at Ringside - vs - THUNDER KNUCKLES w/ TNGB’s Bobby Bourbon at Ringside Singles w/Valet If Thunder Knuckles wins: Gains Future Revolution Championship Opportunity If Justin York wins: Gains Future Anarchy Tag Team Championship Opportunity

STARS: I gotta change that…

TODD: Change what?

STARS: That damn intro music.

TODD: Why?

STARS: …you know why.

Plumes of Blue and White pyrotechnics shoot out from tubes around the makeshift entry ramp on the stage and mark the start of our show! On this momentous occasion, the XWF has returned to the iconic MALL OF AMERICA for this “Independence Eve” edition of Thursday Night ANARCHY!!! Hundreds of fans surround the ring in the Huntington Bank Rotunda, both on the ground floor and the surrounding walkways of the floors above. Even still, there are hundreds, nay, millions more who are watching and streaming LIVE from their homes!!!

As soon as the pyros finish, "Lithium" by Nirvana hits over the speakers, officially welcoming XWF fans to yet another edition of their favorite syndicated full-contact wrestling show, which we lovingly refer to as "The A-Show".

The Anarchy announce team is at ringside, preparing for a night filled with action!!  With "Lithium" still playing over the speakers the cameras pan around to those few lucky and avid members of the Anarchy faithful from all ages, races, creeds & colors screaming on the tops of their lungs, proudly wearing their XWF Merchandise and holding up signs for their favorite (or least favorite) stars:

CAUSE MAYBEEEEE

THE STROM. IS. COMING. TO. THE GREAT AMERICA MALL..

YOUR HOUSE IS A WRECKED MERCEDESSS

SUMMER PAGE VS MARISOL VILARO 4(EVER)

I COULDN’T AFFORD #PWV TIX - NEXT BEST THING

AND AFTER ALLLLLL

OSWALD AUTEM SEPHTIS IS MY SLEEP PARALYSIS DEMON

LIVE. ON. THE XWF. AT. THURSDAY NIGHT. ANARCHOEVE!

WHAT DOES THE JC STAND FOR KEETON? HUH?!

YOU LIKE YOUNGER BALLSSSSSSS

MICHEAL GRAVES FOR PRESIDENT WHITMORE IN INDEPENCE DAY REBOOT

JIMMY SUX! #BRING BACK BARRY

BOBBY BOURBON OWES ME A KIDNEY - AND NOT ONE OF TK’S

The fans both sitting and standing in this unique venue are murmuring and ready to get the five match card of XWF’s Anarchy underway! Many have been waiting patiently for the start of the show for quite a while, but on the periphery there are several hundred civilians just trying to enjoy a night at the nation’s largest mall, some of whom have never witnessed professional wrestling action in their entire miserable lives.

The hard cam pans around the Rotunda catching glimpses of the excitement and of the confused looks from the elderly couple who had just left The GAP moments prior.

TODD: Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to THURSDAY NIGHT ANARCHY! As always, I am your host Todd Moschitti, and alongside me is, what I hope isn’t becoming a trend, my new broadcast partner for the evening, our kinda esteemed general manager... Jimmy Stars.

STARS: Fuck you too, Todd.

TODD: Wow, so we’re going to start off the evening on the right foot, hmm?

STARS: You’re doing this on purpose.

TODD: Doing what on purpose?

STARS: You know the Mall of America rental contract has limited me to only using seven curse words for the entirety of tonight’s show. If we go over, I get a huge fine for ‘damaging their brand’ or whatever. As if Maiden Dixie is going to back out if I don’t clean up my act. This is total bullsh… crap!

TODD: And the problem is?

STARS: The problem is, I’ve already used one of my seven curses, and that’s entirely your fault!

TODD: I don’t see how that’s my problem.

STARS: How about I make it your damn problem? Wait… does damn count?

TODD: Yes.

STARS: Fuck!

TODD: That’s four.

STARS: FU-

Jimmy quickly covers up his microphone as he goes into a tirade.

TODD: Listen, while you have your little conniption off-mic, and preferably off-screen, I’d like to actually talk about the show you’ve put together for the fans here tonight. This one’s really leaning into the hardcore roots of the Xtreme Wrestling Federation and I’m looking forward to seeing how it’s all going to play out here.

STARS: It’s Independence Eve, baby. Tomorrow’s the fourth of July, but the fireworks are going to begin tonight! The Storm is coming to take on each other and Mister Oz in a triple threat match. And then JC Keeton is going to take on not 34, not 35, but 36 other competitors just to see if he can make it to the Leap of Faith final!

TODD: Well, no. JC Keeton is going to take on XXXVI.

STARS: That’s what I said.

TODD: But yes, the winners of the first two matches tonight will go on to face each other at Leap of Faith for the chance to be deemed the number one contender to the Revolution Championship.

STARS: Yes Sir. We’ve got to build the brand. Put some stakes on the line. Make our champions more vetted and have our championships feel earned. And this is how you do it: you gotta start by building the divisions individually. Being the number one contender is going to mean something after this mini-tournament. And I don’t care what 36, 37, or 38 says. Whoever earns this gets to write the fricken narrative. I only offer opportunities.

TODD: Yes. Between Latoya, Razor, Oz, JC, and XXXVI, only one can be the number one contender, and then what?

STARS: Then either the contender gets their shot or if someone else wants a shot at the Revolution title, they’ve got to go through the number one contender first AS IT SHOULD BE.

TODD: Is.. Is Peter Principle catching strays here?

STARS: NO?! Dear god man, absolutely not! Rest in Peace, Peter. I mean, get well soon. It’s 2025, you hate to see a man get waterboarded like that. I mean, I’m not here to judge. But do that kinda thing in private next time.

TODD: He was attacked by the Black Rainbow!

STARS: Sorry. I only caught the tail end of it. Wasn’t he trying to steal from the vending machine?

TODD: Ugh. No. You actually think Peter Principle used his face to break into the vending machine?

STARS: I mean, I wouldn’t have used my face. But the evidence was clearly there-

TODD: Then next we have the “Birthday Wish” match between Solomon Kline and Tommy Wish. Happy Birthday to the kid, by the way. How old is he?

STARS: Tommy? He ain’t no kid. He’s like at least 40 something.

TODD: No, It’s Solomon’s birthday.

STARS: OH! Then why the hell did I book a Birthday Wish match? His last name ain’t wish!

TODD: The good lord above couldn’t answer the question as to why you do things, Jimmy.

STARS: Anywho, yep. Gotta admit, you ain’t wrong about that. But I do promise you that I’ve taken their wishes under intense advisement, and after careful scrutiny, I have come up with a decision.

TODD: Which is?

STARS: That the match stipulation, will be-

TODD: Yeah?

STARS: Announced before the match.

TODD: …

STARS: But hey, good news, now it’s for the 24/7 Xtreme Title!

TODD: Fortunate, indeed, for the young Kline, who I believe is 27.

STARS: His name is 36. Not 27. And no, that’s not Kline under that mask. I’ve seen them both in catering together. Rules that out entirely.

TODD: I wasn’t saying that he’s literally XXXVI! I’m saying that he turned 27… oh, to hell with it.

STARS: Hell better not count against us. Hell is a place.

TODD: Sitting next to you is also a similar place. But after that match, whatever it may end up being, Hardcore Icon Frances Marigold will take on the Anarchy Champion Micheal Graves in a Hardcore Heaven match! I see you’ve got tables stacked up from here to the second floor already for that one.

STARS: You know how many unpaid interns we lost today to get that tower built?

TODD: Excuse me?

STARS: Too many.

TODD: …what do you mean by… lost?

STARS: The letters have already been mailed to their families, Todd. But if you ask me, how hard is it really to stack tables?

TODD: That’s… not very reassuring at all. I’d like to see you stack one table. One!

STARS: Whatever. I expect this match to go places, literally. They’re going to need to fight up to the second floor, at least, to win the match. So while hell IS a place, Heaven is also a place and it’s right here on the flat, hollow, planet disc Earth!

TODD: A fall from that height could kill a man, or at the very least seriously injure him and risk his entire career and way of life.

STARS: Rumor has it the day Frances was born the doctor accidentally dropped him out a fifth floor hospital window. He unironically likes Nirvana. He should be fine.

TODD: And our Anarchy Champion Micheal Graves?

STARS: He has plenty of goons to break his fall. Peter Parkour probably taught him how to ‘flip out of it’. That or the cat taught him how to land on his feet.

TODD: You can’t just… I can’t even… how is a man supposed to flip out of being driven down through a dozen or so tables to the concrete floor below?

STARS: Don’t.

TODD: What do you mean, don’t?

STARS: Don’t try to.

TODD: One of them has to take the fall, asshole!

STARS: YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU’RE WASTING MY SEVEN CURSES YOU FUCK!

TODD: Who fucking cares about your fine? You won’t pay for it anyway! The XWF will pick up the tab for you AS PER USUAL.

STARS: True. Didn’t think about it like that. Fuckin’ gonna be a great night. I can fuckin’ feel it.

TODD: UGH. MOVING On- The main event has our Revolution Champion Justin York taking on one half of our Anarchy Tag Team Champions Thunder Knuckles in a self-proclaimed bucket-list match. Thunder Knuckles will have Bobby Bourbon in his corner… dare I ask who among the Pro Wrestling Valor roster will be in York’s corner?

STARS: No clue.

TODD: You’re the General Manager. What do you mean you don’t have a-

STARS: Hey listen. Double Moose is playing this one close to the chest. And I’m gonna let him. Cause at the end of the day, one of these guys is going to earn a shot to face the other for some stakes a little bit larger than what I could provide here tonight. And I’m fine with that.

TODD: The implications are huge. If York wins, I suppose he has to pick a partner to face Them No Good Bastards for a shot at the Anarchy Tag Team Championships.

STARS: Could it be… JC Keeton? Could it be… Thaddeus Duke?

TODD: No and no.

STARS: Could it be… the PWV superstar coming out as his muscle tonight?

TODD: Possibly. Which would only add fuel to the Valor takeover fire.

STARS: Ooh, that would be fun.

TODD: But if TK picks up the victory, that means he gets a future title opportunity at the Revolution Championship. And what does that mean?

STARS: That means Thunder Knux might get the match he wanted after all, of course. But with a new number one contender being named at Leap of Faith, I guess it depends on when TK can get that shot if it’s going to be a one on one or a triple threat.

TODD: That’s… that’s incredibly devious.

STARS: Oh, I’m aware. But the fans pay to see these fuckers beat the shit out of each other, and I’m more than fucking happy to oblige.

TODD: You’re definitely getting fined now.

STARS: Who gives a fuck? It’s fucking INDEPENDENCE EVE ANARCHY BABY!! LETS FUCKING GOOOOO!!!






“One for the money” by Escape the Fate hits the sound system and the lights go dim. The fans are already booing and tossing garbage as they anticipate the arrival of the one and only Justin York.

TODD: Wait a minute. That’s Justin York’s music. He’s not set to come out until the main event later this evening.

STARS: That’s usually when Main Events do happen, Todd. Duh.

TODD: Whatever. All I’m saying is that, for some reason, the Revolution Champion is out here now, and I think it’s pretty safe to say that the XWF fans here in the Mall of America are not so happy to see him!

STARS: Well, I’m not happy to see them throwing their shit in my ring. That’s uncalled for!

A spotlight hits the top of the stage and he stands directly in it and before long the spotlight turns teal. He raises his arms and takes the crown off of his head and places it on the stage and then takes his signature maple leaf skull mask off and unsteady the Revolution title from his waist and holds it with one arm above his head and pyro explodes all over the set.

TODD: For once, I agree with you. It’s completely dangerous. Unsafe for the superstars and the fans sitting around the ring and-

STARS: Now I’ll have to pay the cleanup crew overtime!

TODD: …nevermind.

STARS: Don’t mention that fucking album’s name ever again.

TODD: Album? What are you talking about?

The lights come back on and York saunters down the stage paying no mind to any of the fans as he normally would. A bandage adorns his head and his ribs are taped up from the attack at PWV’s Ground Zero PPV by Cyrus Braddock.

TODD: I know Kieran King did a number on York and Shark two weeks ago. But I didn’t think it was that bad.

STARS: Tell me you haven’t watched PWV Ground Zero without telling me you haven’t watched PWV Ground Zero.

TODD: I don’t work for Pro Wrestling Valor, why should I?

STARS: Because they’re pulling out some AMAZING action, Todd! Because you’d KNOW what happened to OUR Revolution Champion Justin York if you DID watch it! AND because they’re a trusted sponsor of tonight’s broadcast! 

TODD: You mean to tell me-

STARS: That’s right! XWF Independence Eve Anarchy is brought to you by: PW Valor Ground Zero! Pre-order your digital copy today!

TODD: …

He climbs into the ring and is immediately handed a microphone.

TODD: …and now we’ve got to listen to him speak. Great.

STARS: Put some respect on our sponsor’s name!

York taps three times on the microphone before hollering into it.

JY: Cut the fucking music.

York hangs his title over the top rope.

JY: Straight to business. That nimrod King Kieran thought he was wise to take a shot at Shark and I while nobody was paying attention, what’s so kingly and royal about that? I digress, that’s for Shark to deal with.

TODD: Does Justin York have anything nice to say about anyone?

STARS: He’s nice to me!

TODD: That… makes sense, somehow.

STARS: Just like it’s really nice of Justin York to let James Shark handle Kieran King. What benevolence!

TODD: What horseshit.

JY: James Shark, I give you a round of applause, you put the nail in the coffin of this little rivalry we had and EARNED my respect, go kill Kieran and whoever you see fit! Maybe we’ll meet again one day but for now that chapter is closed.

TODD: That’s not for him to decide thou-

STARS: Shush!

York saunters around the ring and gives his head a scratch.

JY: That curly headed freak, Keeton thinks he’s all that and a fucking bag of potato chips because he beat a glorified John Blade. NOBODY and I mean nobody watches this program for YOU. Just offering a little reality check. Notice you’re at the bottom of the card and where I am? There’s a reason for that. Your match was over before I even arrived to the building. Who knows whether you won or lost tonight but the fact of the matter is this, you’ll fizzle out and disappear like you always do, it’s ingrained in you. It’s your identity.

York takes a seat on the top turnbuckle and taps on the microphone again. The crowd boos the shit out of him and for the first time in a moment he offers a grin.

JY: We’re still live, get fucking used to it. Cyrus Braddock, you big dumb shit. There’s truthfully nothing between your ears but air and opportunity. I’ll give you credit, you took your shot and hit. I’ll instantly discredit you for having balls the size of tic tacs because you don’t make a move without Thad’s blessing. A guy your size taking orders from that fucking toolbox? It tracks though. I’m not even gonna waste my time calling you out because I know for a fact you aren’t here as Thad tells you when to heel and when to fetch like a fucking golden retriever.

York chuckles to himself.

JY: What I’m really here to address and get off my back is the giant elephant in the room. You got me Thad, got me real good.

York touches the bandage on his head from the golden shovel shots as well as pats himself in the sternum where his ribs are firmly taped also from the same assault.

JY: What you’ve done in the process is prove what I’ve been saying since the very beginning. You refuse to fight your own battles, to answer any challenge that you aren’t certain that you can win and decisively. You know that isn’t the case here so you’re trying to tip the scales as far in your favor as possible. I can’t blame you, why would you want to tarnish your reputation by losing against a guy that you’ve talked down on for years and years.

TODD: So York is all messed up because Braddock attacked him on Ground Zero? And he did this under order of Thaddeus Duke?!

STARS: DUH! Get with the program, Todd!

JY: I’ve done just about everything that you couldn’t do, although I sound like I’m beating a dead horse, it's the truth. I’ve turned anarchy into a brand that is meaningful, not Bashmaster, not Jimbo, not Syn, nobody especially you and that’s for damn certain. 

STARS: HEY!

TODD: Hahaha. So much for him being nice to you.

STARS: …my name isn’t Jimbo dammit…

JY: I put it on my back since the day I walked in and turned this shithole around for the better while also offering an alternative for fans to tune into in the form of Pro Wrestling Valor. You’ve been nothing short of ungrateful, to me and to the fans that line yours and this company's pockets. You haven’t shown your face on anarchy in a blue moon. So I have a proposition that’ll not only appease these fans but will prove and give you the chance to show that you still have some sort of guys and courage left in your frail old body.

TODD: Oh, I don’t like the sound of this.

STARS: Let’s hear the man out first.

York hops off the turnbuckles and leans against the top rope facing the stage.

JY: Bring your ass down here and let’s fucking fight, man to man, one on one!

The crowd roars at the thought of Thad and York fighting right here tonight.

JY: Sure I have the main event to perform later tonight but I’m not gonna have ten seconds worth of trouble to whoop your ass all over this pathetic and filthy town. Unless of course you’re afraid of a battered and broken JY?

York grins as the crowd continues to boo his arrogance.

JY: Exactly what I thought, just like your puppy dog, you don’t have the SACK——

Thaddeus Duke, XWF COO and all the other things, steps through the curtain and to the entrance way without any pomp and circumstance to a loud roar from the XWF Universe.

TODD: OH MY GOD! THADDEUS DUKE IS HERE!

STARS: OH SHIT.

TODD: OUR COO! THE ONE AND ONLY THADDEUS DUKE!

STARS: I didn’t think he’d actually… shit shit shit-

TODD: JIMMY THIS IS- wait… Jimmy-

Todd looks up to see Jimmy’s headset bounce off of the announce table, and the back of a hoveround as it makes its way through the crowd and out into the mall at large.

TODD: Well, I guess Jimmy left us. Thank goodness!

TD: Are you done yet?

York goes to reply.

TD: Don't answer that dumbass, it's rhetorical.  For 3, maybe 4 years now, you've been suckin on my nuts tryna get my attention.

York goes to cut him off.

TD: Shut up, Yorkie. I'm not finished. Everytime you open your mouth, it's nothin but lies and half truths all the while you're callin me out to dance.

York goes to speak again but he's got a dead mic.

TODD: Thaddeus shut York’s microphone off! This night just keeps getting better and better!

TD: If you think tryna brand me as a coward or that I somehow fear you when a couple of years ago I dog walked you in about seven minutes at Denzel Porters Invitational, then my friend you got some wires crossed.

TODD: Now, I do remember that one. That match, perhaps the spark that ignited this entire feud, highlighted the differences between these two company figureheads. And yes, Thaddeus Duke absolutely destroyed Justin York. 

TD: Now, that said, I do owe you an apology.  Yorkie, I sent Cy Braddock to give you the attention your parents obviously never gave you as a puppy, but it was not my intention for him to put you in the hospital.

Simple minds sometimes fall off the rails.

See, you've been begging for my attention thinking that somehow you coming to Anarchy and becoming the star you wished you always were but never really had the talent to accomplish, is somehow offensive to me.

If it was up to me, everyone on this roster would thrive like you had been.

Your arrogant claims of being the reason Anarchy is as popular as it has grown has… honestly… something to do with you, I'll grant you that much, but not everything.  Anarchy is growing and thriving because I hired Bat Masterson.

TODD: Bashmaster?

TD: And then because I hired Jimmy Wheelchair.

STARS (shouting from behind a kiosk): IT’S A HOVEROUND DELUXE MOBILITY SCOOTER YOU F-!

TD: To answer your challenge… I dog walked you once, Yorkie.  If I liked easy wins, I'd have kept my ass in AAW.

MIC DROP - EXIT

TODD: Is that… it? Did Thaddeus Duke just tell Justin York… no?

The motor of the Hoveround can be heard as Jimmy drives back to the commentary table.

STARS: Is he… is Duke finally gone?

TODD: Yeah, he went back to the back, why?

STARS: It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, shitbrick.

TODD: Haha, you’re scared of the boss. Even I have to give Justin York credit though, there’s not a cell in his body that seems fearful of Thaddeus Duke, even though he should be.

STARS: I’m not scared! I just… I can’t… whatever! York looks pissed, like he should be. And I don’t blame him. Why make all of the effort to come here to Independence Eve Anarchy just to say no?! Who’s the real chicken shit here?

TODD: It’s still you, Jimbo.

STARS: UGH. I’m this close to firing your ass, Todd. I swear to God.

TODD: What’s stopping you?

STARS: I haven’t drawn your name out of the firing hat… yet.

TODD: Well, whatever. It’s going to be one hell of a main event tonight, but we can’t get there until we start the action, so while Justin York has to wait until later to get his fight on, lets get ours on… right now!





TODD: What?!? No freaking way! Is he here? Is Razor Blade in the building?!?

…

TODD: These are the questions that less professional announcers seem to ask whenever Razor Blade heads to the ring.

STARS: It’s embarrassing, Todd. Thankfully, this duo on Anarchy is able to keep our heads on straight for a routine entrance.


TODD: While he was scheduled to compete and is not a major surprise on the card, what IS surprising is how impressive Razor looked on Warfare! He went to war with his long-time partner Latoya Hixx, claiming an emphatic victory by executing the Diamond Blade off the entrance ramp to secure a victory!

STARS: It was a breakout performance for Razor… But, after a hit like that, you either ride that success to the next hit, or let yourself fade as a one-hit wonder. Razor did what some thought he could never do, strung together a win. But, can he make it two?





STARS: Is the adrenaline in your soul, Todd?

TODD: Uhm. Yeah, sure. I’m always pumped for Anarchy, Jimmy.

STARS: Good answer-

TODD: Thanks, Jimmy.

STARS: -for a loser!

TODD: Ugh.






TODD: Jimmy, imagine going through a war like Latoya did on Warfare with Razor, her brother-in-arms… Waging unspeakable violence on someone you’ve developed this trust and partnership with… and then, days layer, you’re competing together met AGAIN, this time in a triple-threat match. What do you think is going through Hixx’s head right now?

STARS: The “Pop Goes the Weasel” song. Hixx ain’t working with a full toolbox and getting dropped on her head off the ramp on Warfare couldn’t have helped matters much. But, watch for her to make a choice early. Is she gonna team with Razor to try and secure this Revolution title opportunity between them? Or is it every man, woman and Oz for themselves?


TODD: That’s not very nice.

STARS: If you think I’m mean, you should wait until you see this man!



Oswald stands amidst an indie metal band, watching the ring, looking at the band. Soon a choir is heard as the band begins to play his theme song. He walks towards the lead guitarist, clapping him gently on the back so as to not mess up her playing. Oswald walks down the ramp, the bottom of his white cloak dragging along the ground. Once at the ring, he'd leap onto the apron before launching himself to show how strong and agile he was to lift such mass with such ease right over the top rope and de-cloaked himself, placing it in his corner before stretching out his arms in a lower case t and roaring out to the crowd before going and sitting on top of his cloak, awaiting the bell as he mentally plans out the match, as well as how to try and beat his opponent.

TODD: Now… Yes, this match includes the ongoing saga of American Storm… but the monster looming over this match… has gotta be Mister Oz.

STARS: No doubt, Toddy. Oz has been on a WARPATH. He shredded Damian Santos into carnitas strips last Anarchy!

TODD: And Oz has sworn that he will become a two-time Revolution champion! Step one is winning tonight’s match. But he has two obstacles ahead of him, in the form of American Storm…

INDEPENDENCE EVE MINI-TOURNAMENT MISTER OZ - vs - RAZOR BLADE - vs - LATOYA HIXX Triple Threat Winner faces Winner of XXXVI vs KEETON at Leap of Faith For the Number One Contendership to the Revolution Title

The bell rings and Razor Blade immediately clenches his fists, bouncing on the balls of his feet with that signature wide-eyed, never-back-down expression. His lips curl into a confident sneer as he charges toward Mister Oz—his face the picture of overzealous determination.

At the same time, Latoya Hixx lets out a guttural yell, her brow furrowed like a bull seeing red. She barrels forward toward Oz as well, arms swinging like wrecking balls.

TODD: Looks like Storm IS still a United Front, coming at Oz like a pair of lumberjacks taking down a redwood!

STARS: Wise. They’re trapped in there with an absolute monster, not really a great time to be figuring out their personal beef.

Oz stands motionless at first, one brow arched in amusement, arms spread slightly—welcoming the oncoming assault like it’s an offering. His chin lifts, eyes closed for a half-second as if receiving the faith of these two zealots.

But just as Razor leaps into the air with a flying forearm and Latoya winds up a massive haymaker—

Oz erupts, both eyes flashing open with fire. His arms shoot up like battering rams, catching Razor midair with shocking ease, before launching him into Latoya, knocking both challengers to the mat in a tangled heap.

STARS: Oh my God! That man is a literal human catapult! You know how much merch we could sell if he came with a launch button!? Hang on, I’m calling XWF’s toy department…

TODD: Unbelievable strength from Mister Oz!

Latoya pushes herself up first, snarling, face twisted in confusion and fury. She charges again with a war cry, her fists hammering toward Oz’s broad back. Razor follows, holding his ribs but fueled by pride and adrenaline, nodding to himself in an unspoken vow to never back down.

Oz’s eyes dart between them with measured calm—a man surveying ants.

He grabs Latoya with one hand by the wrist, the other hand snatching Razor by the waistband of his tights—and in a single, fluid motion, tosses both of them into opposite corners like they’re made of foam.

Latoya’s face smashes into the turnbuckle, her expression briefly dazed, while Razor hits back-first against the corner, his face scrunching with pain—but still, he tries to smile through it, even staggering out with arms raised in a "come on then" gesture.

TODD: Oz is single handedly ragdolling both of them! This is domination! This is brutality!

STARS: This is a license to print money! A golden goose! Think action figures, NFTS, an HBO miniseries!

Mister Oz’s expression finally hardens. He exhales slowly through his nose, as if tired of their weakness, and locks his cold gaze on Razor Blade. Razor nods, raising his dukes, daring Oz to advance.

Oz obliges.

He snatches Razor from the corner with zero hesitation, yanking him into a waistlock. Razor’s face contorts with fear for the first time as Oz launches him backwards with a massive German Suplex!

Razor lands high on his shoulders, rolls through, and barely starts rising before Oz re-hooks him, face blank, breath even—another German Suplex! Razor’s limbs go limp momentarily.

TODD: Two in a row! He’s going for the full six!!

STARS: Sextuple German Suplex!

But just as Oz hoists Razor up for the third—

Latoya roars back to life.

Her face a mix of rage and desperation, she throws herself at Oz, clubbing him across the back with forearm after forearm. Razor takes this opening to scramble into the ropes, cradling them to his chest, doing anything he can to not get thrown once more.

Meanwhile, Latoya’s blows are fierce, wild, unchecked—her eyes wide with frustration that this mountain of muscle hasn’t crumbled yet.

Oz grits his teeth for the first time. A crack in the god’s patience.

He turns his head slowly toward Latoya, eyes burning.

With a sudden pivot, he hooks Latoya instead into a waistlock, and whips her into a German Suplex of her own! Her legs fly over her head as she crashes down.

TODD: Now he’s doing the sequence to Latoya!!

STARS: Everyone’s catching suplexes! You get a suplex! YOU get a suplex!

Oz grabs her again, lifting for the second—

But this time, it’s Razor Blade who throws himself forward in desperation, clutching the ropes for balance. His face is dripping sweat, chest heaving—but he throws a weak chop to Oz’s chest with all the fire he has left.

SMACK!

Oz doesn’t flinch.

He turns toward Razor, eyes wide, mouth slowly curling into an unholy grin.

Oz shoves an exhausted Latoya to the mat! Then, like a divine punishment, he grabs Razor again, reapplying the waistlock.

TODD: Oh no. Oh no! He’s back on Razor! It’s starting over!

Razor’s eyes go wide in horror as Oz begins to lift—

But Latoya, breathless and barely upright, screams and hurls herself at Oz’s back once more.

This time, Oz doesn’t let go.

With both arms locked around his two stunned opponents, Oz roars—a primal bellow that shakes the rafters. His body tenses, veins bulging from every limb—

And then—

HE GERMAN SUPLEXES BOTH OF THEM AT ONCE.

STARS: OH. MY. BRANDING.

TODD: That was a simultaneous German Suplex on Razor Blade AND Latoya Hixx! How is that even humanly possible!?

STARS: It’s not, Todd! That’s the point! Oz is performing MIRACLES in that ring!

Both Razor Blade and Latoya Hixx lie scattered on the mat like scrapheap wreckage—arms splayed, chests heaving, faces blank with exhaustion. Mister Oz stands alone in the center of the ring, towering above them, his breathing controlled, expression unreadable. He surveys the wreckage of his sermon with cold serenity, as if awaiting divine instruction on which soul to claim.

His eyes settle on Razor Blade.

Oz’s lips twitch into something that almost resembles mercy—or is it disappointment?

He stoops, gripping Razor’s arm and yanking him upright with frightening ease. Razor barely stays on his feet, legs wobbling like overcooked spaghetti. Oz threads Razor’s arm between his own legs, grabbing him around the waist—

TODD: He’s going for the pumphandle slam! That might be the exclamation point on this match!

But as Oz begins the lift—

Latoya Hixx rises behind him, face contorted with defiance and desperation. She clenches her jaw, charges forward—and fires a brutal low blow right between Oz’s legs!

Oz freezes. His arms go slack. His jaw drops in an anguished snarl.

STARS: …Good lord. Right in the family jewels…

TODD: That might be the smartest thing Latoya’s ever done in a match!

Oz stumbles forward—

CRACK!

Latoya follows up immediately, leaping into the air with a massive Bicycle Kick that explodes against Oz’s temple, sending the giant crashing to one knee like a king struck down mid-coronation.

Latoya turns to Razor, eyes wide, barking orders like a tank commander under fire.

TODD: Look at that! If there were fears American Storm couldn’t reunite after they battled on Warfare, dismiss them! Latoya has bailed out Razor and is asking him to help her take down Oz!

Razor stumbles upright, eyes wide with adrenaline. He nods, panting, hands on his knees.

Latoya spins back toward Oz—

And Razor hits…

LATOYA  from behind with Blade Rose—a sudden, savage rolling cutter!

Hixx’s skull slams her face-first into the mat.

STARS: Betrayal! That was his ride-or-die! His muscle! His tag-team enabler!

TODD: Razor Blade just stabbed Latoya Hixx in the back with Blade Rose! He knows only one of them can get the Revolution title shot and he’s decided it’s his time!

STARS: Razor might steal this one by pinning Latoya again!

Razor scrambles over her prone body, hooks the leg, shouting at the ref.

1…

Tw-Before the ref can even call “two,” Oz is there—slamming his forearm into Razor’s back.

Razor rolls off with a yelp, stunned, looking up as Oz rises again from one knee like a prophecy fulfilled. His eyes are wild now, nostrils flared. No longer tranquil. No longer divine.

Just wrath.

Latoya rolls out of the ring, clutching her face, crumpling to the floor.

Razor, panicked, tries to scramble away—but Oz grabs him by the jaw, dragging him upright with one hand.

And then—

Oz stuffs his hand deep down Razor Blade’s throat.

TODD: I FAILED YOU!

Razor flails, his eyes bulging, legs kicking as Mister Oz clamps the Mandible Claw deep into his gullet with fingers like iron.

Razor stumbles backward, trying to fight it… He shoves back on Oz with everything he’s got…

But Oz

Is

Just

Too Strong.

Ozzy marches forward, forcing Blade down.

Down.

Down.

Razor collapses to his knees.

Then to his back.

The referee slides in.

One!



Two!!




Thr..ee!!!

WINNER: MISTER OZ

Oz releases the hold slowly, staring blankly down at Razor’s twitching body.

The arena lights dim slightly, catching the faintest shimmer in his skin as he rises his arms, victorious.

TODD: Razor Blade betrayed Latoya… and still came up short.

STARS: There’s no shame in losing to a MONSTER, Todd. But there is shame in getting divinely strangled in the mouth.

CUT TO: BACKSTAGE

We cut to a shot of Anarchy GM Jimmy Stars’ office. The camera is already rolling as Anarchy Assistant General Manager the ol' Wheel And Dealer flips through the night’s run sheet. He mumbles quietly to himself about various stipulations and contracts, when his closed door suddenly bursts wide open! Wheel and Dealer doesn’t seem to notice, however, as he continues going about his duties.

WD: “Probably should have the fire department on standby for this one… Hmm…”

Charlie Nickles swaggers in like he owns the place, using Peter’s wheelchair to forcibly open the GM’s door. Peter looks stiff as ever in his wheelchair, his body barely moving a muscle. Peter’s empty-eyed gaze remains firmly pointed in whichever direction Charlie happens to be pointing his wheelchair. WD’s jaw drops as he sees the condition of the Warfare General Manager.

WD: “Sorry, GM’s office is closed for the evening. And no, I don’t care what you did to Peter, that’s Warfare business and I’m not here to babysit.”

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy... it’s not what I did. It’s what YOU and the rest of the XWF LET HAPPEN….”

Wheel and Dealer looks perplexed initially, but then decides, ahh, what the hell? Let’s go with it.

WD: “Yes. I am Jimmy Stars, Charlie. One-hundred percent. The guy in the Hoveround that talks too much. Tell me, what exactly have I let happen precisely?”

Charlie rolls Peter Principle into the center of the office, then just abandons the chair as he himself walks forward to sit directly across from the faux Anarchy GM.

“As soon as Pride Month ended, The Rainbow Warriors viciously attacked our beloved Peter Principal- injecting him with all sorts of foreign chemicals…you know, poppers and the like!

But as the Universal Champion of the XWF, it is my duty to preserve the order and sanctity of this company...even if that means picking taking on new roles and obligations in the face of personnel limitations.”

’DING!’

Peter Principle stares ahead aimlessly as he dings the bell on his wheelchair. Wheel and Dealer looks between Charlie and Peter with a slack jaw, clearly taken aback at the situation.

“As the reigning Universal Champion- and the new ACTING General Manager of Warfare-“

WD: “Come again?”

The Nickleman leans back in the chair with a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, you heard me right Jimmy! Peter signed the paperwork yesterday- it’s already official.”

WD: “Not to call you a liar, but I doubt Peter signed anything. He looks like an extra on the walking dead. Get him to the local hospital and leave him there.”

‘DING. DING.’ Peter dings his bell twice.

”See? Two dings! For ‘no’! He’s fine!

Even though his face is perfectly still… something very subtle in his expression indicates the idea of being away from the XWF right now would revile Peter.

WD: “...Look, even if you’ve worked out a ding system… Peter should be checked by Doctor Richardson. There’s no way he’s in his right mind if he thinks Charlie Nickles should take over as Warfare GM.”

The Nickeman dismisses Jimmy’s concerns with a simple wave of his hand.

“No offense, Jimmy: but that’s above your paygrade. Your job is to run Anarchy…my new job is to run the XWF. That’s why it’s important that we have this meeting now, to make sure we are in full alignment about the new policies we will begin rolling out to promote the safety and prosperity of all XWF talent.”

WD raises a suspicious eyebrow as Peter ‘DINGS’ his bell once more.

WD: (sigh) “This should be good. Go on, hit me up with the changes. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Effective immediately—no Black Rainbow backstage. Period. No appearances. No surprise run-ins. No more Ouija boards in catering.

They are persona non grata, got it?.”

Peter DINGS emphatically. Charlie smiles wider.

“All fan signs referencing revolutions, uprisings, and people’s movements? Confiscate them immediately. If they wave a Dolly Waters sign, security gives them the boot. Capiche?”

WD: “We’re in a mall, Charlie. You can’t do that, because I’m not even sure that I can-”

Peter DINGS aggressively, in sequences of two, over and over ‘no no no no’... as Charlie cuts ‘Jimmy’ off.

“I can. I am. And I’m not done- so sit down, shut the fuck up, and start taking notes.

You don’t want to fail your first performance review.”

WD looks immediately taken aback as The Nickleman leans forward, placing his elbows upon Jimmy’s GM table as if it were his own.

“All Revolution merch? Pulled. All Corporation merch? Front and center at every booth.

Foam fingers? They flip birds now.

You want a shirt? It has to have my face or my belt on it.

No exceptions.”

DING!
DING!
DING from Peter. Charlie cackles maniacally at the situation.

WD: (sighing louder) “And what does three dings mean?”

”It was one ding, three times! Like, YES! YES! YES! Keep up, Stars…”

WD: “How could I have ever mistaken his obvious enthusiasm.”

“Oh, and Peter just said that the pyro budget for my entrances is now more than your entire catering bill. Also, all Anarchy talent must exclusively refer to me as ‘Mr. Champion’ in all future promos.

They will respect my title AND my tie, or they will suffer for it.”

WD: “You really think you can just walk in here and—”

“I didn’t walk in, Jimmy.

I rolled in, rang a bell, and rewrote every damn rule in the book!

Anarchy belongs to The Corporation now. You can keep your desk.

But we’re taking everything else!”

Charlie rolls his head back with laughter before turns and walks out, almost forgetting to take Peter with him!

Ding! Peter rings his bell to second Charlie’s exiting statement.

It’s not until Charlie hits the door and hears that ‘DING’ that he remembers to grab Peter’s chair. As the corporate due leave the office, WD just sits back in his chair with a look of disbelief.

WD: “Well, that’s it. I’m asking for a raise.”








STARS: HOW DARE HE?!

TODD: How dare he who? Charlie? Peter Principle?!

STARS: Wheel and Dealer… Asking for a raise! All he does is sit around in my office all day!

TODD: Doing your work.

STARS: No, he’s doing his job… just like you should be doing yours.

TODD: Fine. Up next, we get to see who will take on Mister Oz at Leap of Faith for that coveted Number One Contender’s spot at the upcoming Leap of Faith PPV.

STARS: You gotta like how the Revolution division is shaping up. Maybe we should have our own rankings. Maybe a top 5 or something. A mini-ELO.

TODD: That would be nice. You going to make that a part of your SuperSTARS spotlight segment too?

STARS: Of course.

TODD: We wouldn’t want you to miss out on taking credit for anything around here.

STARS: You really do know how to cut a man deep. Oh Todderick, why wouldn’t I take credit for everything around here?



The stage alights in red. Smoke gathers around the stage. Gods by Sleep Token plays as XXXVI appears, rising up out of the red lights amidst the smoke, his hands gathered in prayer. He steps out onto the stage and takes in the mixed reaction from the crowd. He shakes out his head and shoulders and begins to walk down the ramp, hands still in prayer pose. Half way down, he spreads his hands apart and reaches out both arms in T-Pose as he crouches, sauntering down the rest of the ramp toward the ring. He climbs onto the apron, outstretches his arms and then enters, rolling backward over the top rope and spins toward the center of the ring, arms outstretched like a helicopter. He then sits, cross legged in the dead center of the ring, hands once again in prayer pose and bows his head. Full black again, then a single, red cone of light bathes him in the ring as fire explodes out of each turnbuckle.

STARS: This dude gives off all the wrong vibes. It’s bad joojoo.

TODD: Bad what now?

STARS: Well, not only does he accuse me of setting him up as a stepping stone for JC Keeton, which I didn’t, by the way, he talks about himself as this tortured soul behind that mask.

TODD: XXXVI is as enigmatic as he is intense. He’s not here to win your love, Jimmy. He’s here to prove you wrong and take that brass ring from Keeton’s hand.

STARS: I NEVER SAID XXXVI couldn’t win this match!



A deep bass rumble hits first—like the distant crack of a thunderstorm rolling over farmland. The screen flickers to life with vintage home video clips: grainy footage of a young JC in headgear wrestling in dusty high school gyms… riding horses… before fast-forwarding to JC lifting the IWF world title!

BLACK SCREEN.

A burst of golden-white pyro erupts from both sides of the entrance ramp!

JC KEETON bursts through the curtain with laser focus. He doesn’t slow down. No theatrics. No posturing. He walks with an athlete’s gait—loose shoulders, tight fists, jaw locked, eyes burning forward.

He doesn’t look left or right. Just straight down the aisle, headed straight for the ring.

TODD: No frills, no distractions. That’s JC Keeton in a nutshell for ya. He’s all business every time we see him.

STARS: Well, he lives in a camper. And trust me, there’s not much in the way of distractions when you live in a camper.

TODD: How do you know he lives in a camper? Or are you making that up?

STARS: I saw it in the parking lot.

TODD: We’re at a mall.

STARS: Right. Who else would bring a camper to the mall?

TODD: Ugh. The former IWF World Champion is battle-tested. But the question tonight is… can he outmaneuver the unpredictable XXXVI and make his way through to the Land of OZ at Leap of Faith?

INDEPENDENCE EVE MINI-TOURNAMENT XXXVI - vs - JC KEETON

Keeton and X square off in the center of the ring as the referee calls for the bell. Keeton calls for a test of strength and X obliges reluctantly and just as the two lock up, X kicks him in the midsection and fires off some rapid forearm strikes that backs Keeton into the ropes. X shoots Keeton off into the opposite side rope and on the rebound leaps over him, Keeton hits the ropes again and this time X flattens out on the mat and Keeton hops over, X closes the distance fast as Keeton hits the ropes again and he drills him with a nasty dropkick that sends Keeton to the canvas.

TODD: That dropkick hit like a bullet! XXXVI with the early momentum here.

STARS: XXXVI is making sure that Keeton understands the pain of loss.

TODD: If that’s true, he may be looking for a bit more than a pinfall here tonight.

STARS: Oh, if he has his way, he’ll put JC through the wringer. But JC said he could handle it… so…

Keeton bounces back up rather quickly but X is there and waiting, he grabs Keeton's leg and hauls him down the canvas with a dragon screw that torques his knee out. Keeton wills himself back to his feet quickly using the ropes and X goes on the offensive once more and clotheslines him out of the ring. X hits the ropes and leaps over top crashing into Keeton with a suicide dive and both men hit the floor hard.

TODD: X is throwing his body like a weapon—classic high-risk, high-reward there from someone who really doesn’t seem like he has anything left to lose.

STARS: And high impact. That landing looked like it sucked for both of them. Can somebody make sure we’ve got Doctor Dickbag on standby?

TODD: Doctor Dick… you mean XWF’s head trainer? Doctor Richard?

STARS: Eh, maybe. The one who gives out ice packs for anything. Both my guys are gonna need one!

X makes it back to his feet first and rolls Keeton into the ring and then scales the apron and the top turnbuckle. He leaps off with a moonsault BUT KEETON MOVES just in the nick of time and X crashes the canvas hard. Keeton capitalizes quickly and scoops X off the canvas and drills him with a series of elbow strikes followed by a jumping knee strike that rocks X and sends him stumbling. Keeton throws a spinning uppercut and then quickly drops him with a Poisonrana and follows up with a spinning 360 leg drop and makes a quick cover..


One



Two-


Kickout by XXXVI!

STARS: OHH, that was close!

TODD: That flurry from Keeton was vicious! He’s not just surviving though, Jimmy. He’s turning the tide of this contest.

STARS: You land a Poisonrana and then hit a 360 leg drop? That takes a special kind of talent. Damn shame Keeton is a Valor guy or I’d totally work with him.

TODD: Uhm, he’s an XWF superstar on your roster, too, Jimmy.

STARS: Neat!

Keeton runs his hands through his hair before pulling X back to his feet and setting him up perfectly for a German Suplex, he throws him overhead and X lands perfectly square on his feet, he leaps up and takes Keeton down to the canvas with a reverse hurricanrana dropping him square on his dome. X delivers a standing moonsault and then goes for a cover of his own hooking the leg. Cover!


One



Two-


Keeton powers out!

TODD: Loving the back and forth action! These two are mirroring each other with insane athleticism. I thought X might have had the pin there, but this could still go anyone’s way.

STARS: And how’s Keeton even conscious after that reverse rana? Numbers just bounced him offa his brainstem and JC just kept going like the JC stood for something religious!

TODD: …

X delivers another standing moonsault and then locks on the Boston crab and is wrenching on it. Keeton is writhing in pain as he crawls toward the ropes. Keeton looks as if he’s going to tap, his arm is extended fully into the air and just as he slams it down he grabs ahold of the bottom rope and the referee forces X to break the hold and he obliges after a moment. X stomps down and Keeton a few times and perches himself a few feet away and taunts Keeton to get back to his feet. He wills himself back to his feet and once he does, X throws a heavy looking super kick but KEETON DUCKS!

STARS: Ooh, I likey me some taunting. Maybe not the best time to do it but whatever.

TODD: Pure grit on display from JC Keeton. He was milliseconds from tapping!

STARS: Yeah yeah. But he didn’t, unlike Aurora. That bitch.

Keeton spins him around and drives him down to the canvas with a tiger Suplex and then quickly pulls him back to his feet and tries to lock in the Shepherds Crook (Standing ninja choke) but X floats him over to the mat with an overhead Suplex variation. Keeton is holding his ribs on that one. X points to the top rope and scales the turnbuckles and leaps off with the final countdown (Shooting star into leg drop) but at the very last minute Keeton rolls away and then taps the side of his head with a smirk on his face.

TODD: JC was playing possum! XXXVI just crashed and burned!

STARS: It looks like two can play mindgames. Count me in!

TODD: So two-and-a-half. Got it.

STARS: HEY!

TODD: Look, I’m trying to do a match, okay? These counters are lightning fast. Every move has an answer and I can barely keep up!

STARS: It's like watching two chess masters punch each other in the face. Which, to be fair, would make chess a lot more fun to watch.

Keeton takes advantage of the situation and hits the ropes and then drills X with the Ode to the outlaw (leaping leg lariat) which sends X flat back to the canvas. Keeton hooks the leg. Cover!


One



Two-



Thr-NO! X is too close to the ropes and grabs the bottom rope at the very very last millisecond breaking the Pinfall.

STARS: Good ring awareness.

TODD: That was close! I agree, Jim, XXXVI to grab that rope was incredible.

STARS: Smart wrestling from the guy who looks like he sleeps in a cemetery. Who’d have thunk it?

TODD: It really doesn’t matter how he presents himself. XXXVI brings the chops with him. And he’s got a killer moveset.

STARS: Don’t say killer-

Keeton watches as X uses the turnbuckles to pull himself back his feet ever so slowly. Keeton hits the ropes and drills X with EXILED (high impact spear) but X wisely jumps over him Keeton hits the middle turnbuckle head first at full speed. Keeton stumbles back on his arse holding his head.

TODD: CHRIST! Keeton just ate that turnbuckle full-speed! That could be a concussion right there.

STARS: That’s an ice pack at best. Moving on.

TODD: I’m being serious, Jimmy.

STARS: So am I. I know how Doctor Dickbag handles these things. It’s an ice pack or a toe tag. JC’s choice.

TODD: If he doesn’t do something soon, it’s going to be XXXVI’s choice!

X hits the ropes at full speed but Keeton quickly leaps to his feet and this time hits the EXILED!!! X slams the mat hard and Keeton hooks both legs-


One



Two-



Three!

XXXVI gets his shoulder up off of the mat, but a split-second too late!

DING DING DING

WINNER: JC KEETON

TODD: EXILED OUT OF NOWHERE! Keeton wins!

STARS: 36 got that shoulder up—but it was half a heartbeat too late. You hate to see it… unless you’re JC Keeton of course.

TODD: Now he’s heading to Leap of Faith to face Mister Oz for that number one contender’s spot! And probably a higher spot on your rankings… I might surmise.

STARS: Somebody light the fireworks! This division’s about to explode!

An unpaid intern reaches for the fireworks button-

STARS: NO! NOT LITERALLY YOU FOOL! DO YOU KIDS EVEN KNOW METAPHORS?!

TODD: Well, at least we’re not cursing at them.

STARS: YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US ALL! FUCK!

TODD: Wait… what?






When Anarchy comes back from commercial breaks, the fans begin stirring, pointing, and murmuring. No music plays as figures emerge from one of the Mall of America corridors next to the ring, and the jeers rain down like a torrential downpour.

TODD: Wait a minute here, what the…my.. Hey!

STARS: I didn’t authorize this!

TODD flips through his program notes, increasingly shaking his head in dismay.

TODD: THE BLACK RAINBOW IS HERE! WHY!

STARS: I don’t know.

TODD: What the hell are they doing on Anarchy?

STARS: I don’t know.

TODD: What do you know? Aren’t you supposed to be the General Manager?

STARS: Sure am, Todd. Hey, as your boss, why don’t you go ask them what they’re doing here?

TODD: No thank you.

STARS: That’s what I thought.

They're in full force, too. Emilia Glazkov, Dr. Holly Cambric, Marisol Vilaro, Enigma, and the Messenger. Dressed in all black, everything black, with the Messenger carrying the XWF Tag Team Titles for the two women who own them, yet can not be troubled to carry.

The Black Rainbow pays little mind to the hateful mall crowd as they climb into the ring and take up their stations flanking the Advocate. At the behest of Emilia, Mari secures a mic and takes center stage, gesturing in a grand manner like a game show host.

MARISOL VILARO: Behold! The full power of the Black Rainbow has arrived on MY show! Tonight, this is not XWF Anarchy, it’s Vilarchy. Named after me, of course, since I think you 400-pound mall hogs need it explained to you. We’re here for one reason only. To hold the DESECRATION CEREMONY for the XWF Tag Team Titles!

The fans in the mall become undone! Wild jeering and threats are hurled at the faction. This doesn’t change their posture, all standing with determined faces.

TODD: Jimmy? Wh.. what is she talking about?

STARS: In case you missed it the first few times…

TODD: Right. You don’t know. Gotchu.

Mari all but struts up to the Messenger, who smiles wide and evil as any evil could smile. He extends his title-clad hands outward at his sides and saunters to the middle of the ring as if he’s about to accept Jesus as his Lord and Saviour. The Messenger tilts his head back and smiles, smiles, smiles as Emilia approaches and raises a vial of Consecration Mist. The rest of the Black Rainbow produce their vials of Consecration Mist and hold them high as if in a cheerful toast.

Emilia nods to Holly and mouths something. The doctor takes control of the mic.

DR. HOLLY CAMBRIC: Behold your idols of validation. Forged in sweat. Fought over in blood. And now reduced to that which cannot be explained. These belts, once held aloft by emperors and kings, are now no more sacred than the floor tiles of this mall. Some called the holders of these straps immortals. Well, as Herodotus once said about Immortals at Thermopylae, we put their reputation to the test. And they failed. This is not blasphemy. This is not purification. This is blasphication. The merging of both.

The crowd isn’t even booing anymore. They’re more confused and on edge than anything else.

DR. HOLLY CAMBRIC: Tonight, we mark these titles in the name of the Shadow with the Yellow Eyes. We baptize them in our consecration mist so they may never again be worn without the stain of truth burned into them. A stain that no solvent can scrub away, no polish can shine away, no champion can ignore.

Emilia raises a hand, bringing Holly to a reverent hush.

EMILIA GLAZKOV: Let prestige rot. Let myth collapse. Let Black Rainbow reign.

She uncorks her vial of the black goo. The rest do the same. The crowd has no idea what to make of this until they see a blur of silver hair rushing to the ring like a bat out of hell. They pop hard.

TODD: AURORA! IT’S AURORA!

STARS: WHO LET THAT BITCH ON MY DAMN SHOW?!

TODD: IT’S A SHOPPING MALL, JIMMY - SHE DOESN’T NEED TO BE LET IN!

STARS: DAMN IT!!!

Aurora gets handed a walking cane by an old man near the ringside, and she slides into the ring with it. The first swing from Aurora comes at Vilaro herself, who ducks and immediately slides out of the ring. Emilia grabs the end of the cane, but Aurora counters with a kick to the gut! She slams the cane down across the back of the Left Hand of Maraeth! While Glaskov drops to her knees, Aurora catches Cambric out of the corner of her eye coming at her with a syringe. Aurora swings the cane at Cambric’s hand! She misses! No! Cambric looks down to see the needle broken off of the end of the syringe! Aurora then jams the cane into Cambric’s midsection, who doubles over and takes a shot to her back as well!

TODD: Aurora is absolutely cleaning house! She’s a former Tag Team Champion, and she’s been tortured for far too long by these bastards. She’s not going to let our titles get desecrated by the Black Rainbow!

STARS: I DON’T CARE - JUST GET HER OFF MY DAMN SHOW!

Aurora then turns and swings the cane at Enigma, cracking him in the ribs! But the cane SHATTERS - negating any chance she has to use the weapon. Enigma, the mountain of muscle that he is, doesn’t even FLINCH. Aurora tosses the cane aside and attempts an Entropy Blade… but Enigma simply grabs her around the neck with both hands and chokeslam bombs her right down to the mat with authority!

TODD: Oh no, that monster machine Enigma just had the walking cane shatter over his ribs, and I can’t even tell if he felt it! And now the rest of Black Rainbow is coming to, this doesn’t look too good…

STARS: Looks fine by me!

TODD: What is your problem?

STARS: My problem is in the middle of that ring with silver hair and the skin that looks like somebody scribbled on it! And if Black Rainbow finishes the job here tonight, a HEFTY BONUS is in it for ALL OF THEM!

TODD: The numbers game always catches up. You may get your wish!

Emilia, stretching the knots out of her back, barks orders. Instead of pummeling Aurora, Vilaro, Enigma and Cambric tie her arms to the top and middle ropes and stand unified in front of her. Aurora yells some things, but Mari shoves her signature scarf into her mouth, thus shutting her up.

EMILIA GLAZKOV: Thanks for joining.

Aurora’s eyes say what her voice cannot right now: BURN IN HELL BITCH!

EMILIA GLAZKOV: Before we were rudely interrupted, we now commence.

In unison, they empty the contents into their mouths, slosh it around, and then collectively they spit-spray the grotesque, oily substance onto both belts. It sizzles upon contact. The championships hiss, contort, and darken. The crowd gasps. Todd and Jimmy have been rendered speechless at the unfathomable sight. Aurora’s eyes are filled with wild fury and death lasers aimed at Emilia.

TODD: I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I’m speechless.

STARS: I can’t believe they’re not finishing that bitch off when they have the chance!

TODD: You… don’t care at all what the Black Rainbow is doing? How they’re disrespecting the legacy of every XWF champion that came before them?

STARS: Meh. We can always buy new belts.

TODD: That’s not the point!

When the ritual ceremony is complete, Emilia motions to Mari, who promptly takes the mic and gazes into the hard camera, mist all over her goddess-like lips.

MARISOL VILARO: Let all teams who come for these belts know they no longer chase championships. They now chase infection. They chase ruin. They chase us…. Nowhere over the rainbow.

Mari turns toward Aurora.

MARISOL VILARO: As for you, little lady.

Emilia summons Mari and the rest into a brief huddle. They break, and a sinister smile falls over Mari’s lips.

MARISOL VILARO: After some deliberation from my comrades here, we’ve decided that since you are on a Messiahic second coming schtick, we’ll oblige you with the Jesus Christ treatment. It’s only fair, right?

They untie her from the ropes. Aurora fights like a demon, even briefly earning her escape, but a sharp needle jab to the arm from Dr. Cambric brings Aurora to a sluggish movement. They place her on her back in the middle of the ring. Aurora is awake, eyes wide, but her movements are sloth-like, making it easy for them to pose her in the iconic Jesus Christ crucifixion pose - arms stretched out, feet crossed.

Dr. Cambric dips out of the ring and retrieves a hammer and a handful of nails from a toolbox under the ring. The crowd is now worried, screaming for this to stop, yelling at security and police to intervene. When Holly re-enters, she hands the hammer and nails to Emilia, who then kneels next to Aurora’s right hand and places the pointed end of a nail against her palm and raises the hammer.

TODD: THEY ARE LITERALLY GONNA FUCKING CRUCIFY AURORA! SOMEBODY STOP THIS FOR FUCK SAKE!

STARS: Hey… no… wait… stop… that’s my ring you’re going to put a hole in…

TODD: FUCK YOU JIMMY! GET ANYONE! GET EVERYONE OUT HERE NOW!!!

STARS: No… wait… let ‘em finish first… then kick Aurora… I mean Black Rainbow out…

As if on cue with Todd’s urgent plea, most of the Anarchy security team spills out, as well as Mall of America private security, hitting the ring with urgency. The Black Rainbow is gone, though, having retreated in time. The cameras barely catch their retreating forms before shifting the feed back to the ring, where Aurora is seen surrounded by the hordes of security and being tended to by medical staff, who brought their ice packs with them.

TODD: Damn it! Damn them! I can’t believe what Black Rainbow keeps getting away with, week after week!

STARS: Damn it! I was so close to having a good time, minus having to order a new canvas.

TODD: Seriously, what IS your problem here?

STARS: It’s a long fucking story, TODD! And you don’t like hearing me talk!

TODD: No I do not!

STARS: Then don’t ask!

TODD: UGH! I hope Aurora is okay! Thank goodness security arrived when it did, because this could have been a lot, lot worse.

STARS: If only she had some friends to come help her, hmm? I wonder who’s fault that is?

TODD: This might take some time for us to get our bearings before proceeding. We’ll… umm… we’re sorry, we’ll be right back.

STARS: I’m only sorry Aurora didn’t get what was coming to her-

TODD: SHUT! UP!

CUT TO: TRAINERS ROOM

“Spoiled” Summer Page is chatting with one of the doctors on the XWF medical team. A smile from ear to ear comes over Summer’s face.

“Spoiled” Summer Page: Thank you for the news, doc…

The XWF Head Trainer Doctor Richardson (AKA Doctor Dickbag) pats Summer on her left shoulder and then walks away. A smiling Summer begins to walk through the Mall of America.

Voice: Summer!!!!

A pleasantly surprised Summer sees her older sister Bianca Page approach her. The two sisters hug.

“Spoiled” Summer Page: What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?

“Classy” Bianca Page: I actually didn’t know that I’d see you here. A guy that I’ve been seeing asked me to meet him here…

“Spoiled” Summer Page: Ooooh a guy?

Summer devilishly smiles at her sister.

“Classy” Bianca Page: Stop it! Don’t embarrass me!

“Spoiled” Summer Page: Who me?

“Classy” Bianca Page: Yes you! And if you do I’ll tell Craig about all the embarrassing stories of yours from when we were kids.

Summer stares daggers at her sister.

“Spoiled” Summer Page: Fine! Whatever!

“Classy” Bianca Page: Glad to hear that you see things my way…

Suddenly the conversation is interrupted by Shark’s loud and obnoxious voice as he comes rushing behind Bianca.

James Shark: YO look what they selling at Spencers.

The camera zooms into a box with Keiran King’s face on it. There is a gasp from Bianca off camera as she reads the wording on the box - “ROYAL FLESHLIGHT”.

James Shark: This motherfucker got his own pocket pussy. This is incredible. Why am I surprised though when that pussy tryna flex off of jumpin’ me after a match!?

Shark laughs out loud and throws the box over his head. The box can be heard hitting something loud and a staff member can be heard yelling out “Ow!!”. Shark cringes but then suddenly notices Summer Page. The both of them react simultaneously.

“Spoiled” Summer Page and James Shark: What are you doing here!?

Both of them glare at one another and cross their arms, it was like looking at a mirror. Bianca tilts her head confused and looks at her sister, but not before grabbing Shark’s arm closely which only lights a fire in Summer’s eyes even more as she puts two and two together.

“Spoiled” Summer Page: O!M!G! Is Shark the guy you came to see?

“Classy” Bianca Page: Wait, James is the Shark guy who has been hitting on you non stop you’ve told us about?

Both Bianca and Summer put their hands over their mouths in shock. Shark looks shocked as well but immediately frowns when he hears Bianca. He puts a finger up.

Shark: Okay well first of all, non-stop is a stret-

Before Shark can continue Bianca immediately lets go of him in disgust then slaps him across the face before storming off. Gasps can be heard from the arena by how hard the slap was, it almost looked like there was an imprint on his cheek. Shark slowly looks up at Summer, furious.

Shark: The hell is your goddamn problem!? Why do you insist on bein’ a pain in my ass for!?

“Spoiled” Summer Page: Why am I not surprised that you can’t accept responsibility?!?!

Shark: The fuck you want me to accept!? The fact that you jealous it wasn’t you hoppin’ on the dick this entire time!? Well that ain’t my problem. You had your chance but that ship done sailed for you a long time ago!

“Spoiled” Summer Page: Oh yeah sooo jealous that I kept turning down your flirting…

Shark bobs his head from side to side and mimics Summer before turning around and storming off. He can be heard muttering a bunch of cuss words to himself as the camera pans back to Summer who rolls her eyes.

STARS: Hmmmm…

TODD: All eyes on us, indeed. Eh?

STARS: I hope they can work it out. There’s a lot of potential there for that team to take on the likes of Them No Good Bastards, if they can get on the same page, that is.

TODD: Or perhaps there was a lot of potential.

STARS: Does look like Doctor Dick gave Summer the okay to return to action. I for one am ready for SummerSZN!

TODD: Unfortunately, as far as Shark is concerned, it seems like his Summer season has just ended… and he’s moved on to fresher waters. I guess we’ll have to wait and see?




TODD: Up next is the Birthday Wish match… but we still don’t know what exactly a birthday wish match is!

STARS: I know what it is.

TODD: What good does that do us?

STARS: You’ll see…

The camera pans to XWF Unpaid Interns wheeling out a kiddle pool full of a blue gelatin-like substance toward the ringside area.

TODD: Jimmy, no.

STARS: JIMMY YES!

Stars calls for a mic as he gingerly stands up from his Hoveround™ mobility scooter. When the ring announcer hands him one, he taps on it until he can hear the popping through the speakers. There’s a loud shrieking feedback, nearly bursting the eardrums of everyone in the Mall of America Rotunda. Everyone except Jimmy, who remains proud and undeterred.

STARS: Ahem! Mall of America, make some noise! Because what’s coming up next isn’t just any typical match… it’s a birthday bloodbath! Solomon Kline. Tommy Wish. You thought I wouldn’t do it, but when you Wish upon a STARS, all your dreams shall come true!

TODD: Oh, brother.

STARS: Dog collars. Flaming tables. And for some reason, a kiddie pool full of Anarchy Blue jello. You wanted it? YOU GOT IT! You brought our brand the Xtreme Championship, so I bring you a match with my signature all over it! Courtesy of the Million Dollar Mouth, YOUR ANARCHY GM, JIMMY FUCKING STARS!

TODD: …

The crowd pops as the pool of jello is placed in position. Then multiple tables are stacked around it, plus lighter fluid and various methods of ignition.

TODD: Jimmy, this is giving off "make-a-wish in hell” vibes.

STARS: You just wait until Kline and Wish get their asses down here and that chain is locked between them! This match is set to ignite, but it’s up to our superstars to bring the spark!



It shows Tommy in the shadows in a corridor somewhere on the X-Tron in a hoodie, then it fades back into the arena where the lights flicker and the camera see's him coming down to the ring in his jacket hoodie, with him waving a Kendo Stick around him. Then he nods his head to the beat, and he gives some fans some dap as he walks down to the ramp, then he slides into the ring, and gets on the turnbuckle and poses to the crowd with the stick in the air. Then he comes down from there, and sits on the corner as his theme fades off.

TODD: Tommy Wish looks ready as ever, Jim. Do you think this becoming an Xtreme 24/7 Title match changes things for him at all?

STARS: Sure, it elevates the stakes, but I’d like to think not. Wish is still torn up over not being able to bring home those Anarchy Tag Team titles. This does give him a more immediate path to redemption, but ehh, I don’t see where his gameplan changes any, if at all.

TODD: Agreed. I think the Birthday Wishes of a Flaming… uhh Dog Collar… Tables… uhm Jello match works right in Tommy’s favor!

STARS: It absolutely could.



"Dethrone" by Bad Omens plays throughout the arena. The lights go out. Once the beat drops, a spotlight shines on the entryway, where Solomon Kline appears inside the light, clad in a black hoodie over his ring gear and kneeling on his right knee. As the lyrics come in, he stands, removes his hood and surveys the crowd as sparks rain down around him. He grooves his way toward the ring, and high fives fans along the way. He circles the ring and slides under the bottom rope. He continues rocking out to the song and goes to the turnbuckle to let out a primal scream, singing along to the lyric, "Here am I, take me to the pearly gates, so I can look you in the eye when I spit in your face!"

STARS: And here he is, the brand new XWF 24/7 Xtreme Champion, Solomon Kline!

TODD: Proud of him, Always great seeing someone win their first XWF title.

STARS: I’ll remember exactly where I was when Solomon Kline pinned Dickie Watson!

TODD: Where were you?

STARS: …watching the TV. Duh.

TODD: You dumbass. Anyway, yeah, it was Dickie’s tough luck that lead to Solomon’s great fortune. Will Solomon’s luck lead to Tommy Wish’s great fortune? Only a flaming table can decide who is going to walk out of the Mall of America as the Xtreme Champion! And that match starts… NOW!

BIRTHDAY WISH MATCH XWF Xtreme Championship SOLOMON KLINE © - vs - TOMMY WISH Xtreme Dog-Collar Flaming Tables Match Must put the opponent through a Flaming Table to Win! Also there’s Jello™

STARS: Both men are collared now, chain stretching about ten feet, or for our British/Canadian brethren, about the length of a Razor Blade winning streak. So it’s not that far! No escape. Tables line the outside, especially around the jello pool. And yes, that is a licensed pyrotechnician standing by with a blowtorch.

TODD: An actual blowtorch. The fuck?

STARS: Language. We wouldn’t want the fire to be the thing that ruins this match.

TODD: What about putting out said fire?

STARS: Uhm, uhh… I’ll see if Wheeler Dealer can call the Fire Department real quick.

TODD: UGH. Jimmy, with you running the show, what could possibly go wrong?

STARS: I know, right?

DING DING DING

Solomon Kline lunges forward like a man possessed, slamming into Tommy Wish with a brutal spear that yanks the chain taut and drives both men to the mat. The thud echoes throughout the Rotunda. Solomon doesn't hesitate, he mounts Wish and hammers him with closed fists, unleashing frustration and fury from a string of missed opportunities.

STARS: Kline is making it known straight away that he’s not taking his first championship defense lightly!

TODD: Potential defense. Both these athletes are sick and tired of playing second fiddle. They want to be seen and heard!

STARS: Oh, we’re going to see and hear them, Toddy.

Wish rolls and struggles to his feet, trying to create space, but the dog collar snaps tight and he's yanked back like a tethered animal. Solomon pulls him in with one swift motion and cracks a short-arm clothesline, dropping him again. The crowd roars, some even leaning over the third-floor railings to get a better view. Tommy rolls out under the bottom rope, dragging the chain with him. Solomon pursues, but Wish yanks hard. The chain catches Solomon at the worst time, sending him flying off of the ring apron and landing flat on the ringside floor.

TODD: Great use of the chain between them by Wish to get the upperhand.

STARS: Veteran move to fake-out the time-out only to lull Kline Jr. right into a false sense of security.

Coughing and clutching his windpipe, Solomon doesn’t notice that Wish has his signature kendo stick back in hand. He stumbles into a brutal kendo stick shot right to the gut, courtesy of the challenger.

Tommy doesn’t stop there. He wraps the chain around his fist and begins driving it down into Solomon’s shoulder, targeting the joint with precise, angry blows. Then he drops him with a Russian leg sweep, making sure the chain is beneath Solomon's spine when he hits. The younger Kline cries out and arches his back, pain etched across his face.

STARS: That chain’s not just for decoration. Tommy's making it a weapon tonight.

TODD: This reminds me of old school XWF, which tracks hard for Wish. Steel chain, kendo stick, concrete floor. All perfectly legal when the goal is to set your opponent on fire.

STARS: No, not directly on fire. I don’t want to have to blow out the candles.

TODD: Speaking of-

STARS: Sigh. Fire department is on their way…

TODD: Are they really?

STARS: …

Tommy drags Solomon toward the pool of Anarchy Jello where a table soaked in lighter fluid waits ominously. He retrieves a Zippo from his jacket pocket and flicks it open, but before he can light anything, Solomon surges up with a headbutt straight to Tommy's face. The lighter flies into the air, vanishing into the crowd.

STARS: Told you the blowtorch was a good option!

TODD: I seriously doubt Wish will ever see that Zippo again.

STARS: Hope it wasn’t heirloom.

Disoriented, Tommy staggers back as Solomon scoops him up and drives him hard into the polished mall floor with a crushing Blue Thunder Bomb. A wet smack echoes against the steel fixtures and tiling. Blood smears along the ground beneath Tommy's head.

TODD: You could hear that!

STARS: You could feel that! Jesus!

Solomon, groggy but determined, crawls over to the kiddie pool full of Anarchy Blue jello. He plunges his hand into the gelatinous mass, scoops up a palmful, and slaps Tommy across the cheek with it, leaving a sticky splatter.

KLINE (shouting): THIS ONE'S FOR FRANCES!

TODD: …this is your fault.

STARS: ME?

TODD: You brought this madness upon us!

STARS: It’s the kids birthday! He wanted Jello Shots… so I got him the world’s biggest jello shot!

TODD: Wait… what?

Back in the ring, Solomon sizes Tommy up for Ashes to Ashes, but as he charges, Wish pulls the chain tight, yanking Solomon into a nasty knee driven hard into the breadbasket. Solomon crumples and Wish barrels into him with a Gore-style spear—Headrusha!

TODD: This match is back-and-forth! Neither man wanting to relent!

STARS: This isn’t the type of thing one can weather the storm on. You have to stay in control, else next thing you know you’re buying new ring gear!

Tommy rises slowly, sneering. Using all of the length of the steel chain, he’s able to retrieve and drag a steel chair into the ring. He props it up, and grabs Solomon by the neck. With a sickening spike, he drops him head-first onto the chair with the HideYaFace DDT. The sound of skull meeting steel makes even the die-hards at ringside wince.

STARS: That's vintage Tommy Wish! That DDT just echoed through the entire food court! Which reminds me, I’m hungry!

TODD: Why don’t you have a jello shot?

STARS: Oh, no thanks, it’s a little early to be drinking.

TODD: Wait… WHAT?!

STARS: …what?

Tommy rolls out and starts preparing a table. He drenches it in fluid again and this time the pyrotechnician steps forward. With a blast of fire, the table ignites into a violent blaze. Flames roar several feet into the air.

TODD: What alcohol did you use?

STARS: NONE! WHY?

TODD: Oh… okay.

STARS: Cause I didn’t make it. Interns did.

TODD: JIMMY WHAT ALCOHOL DID THEY USE?!

STARS: I dunno. Everclear? I didn’t want the Jello to look cloudy.

TODD: JIMMY YOU STUPID FUCKING ASSHOLE!

STARS: HEY!

Tommy grabs the chain and begins dragging Solomon by the neck toward the table. Kline coughs and claws at the mat, gasping for air as the fire draws closer. But Tommy is able to literally drag him out of the ring and right to ground zero.

STARS: This is what he wanted! This is the wish! Flaming table and all!

TODD: IF THAT POOL CATCHES FIRE IT COULD EXPLODE DUMBASS!

STARS: …no way.

TODD: YES WAY!!! GET EVERYONE CLEAR OF THE POOL, NOW!!!

Solomon kicks up with both feet, catching Tommy in the gut and knocking him back. He scrambles up, hitting elbows to the temple, and then a Superkick right to the jaw that spins Tommy 180 degrees.

STARS: But there’s a match still going on!

TODD: (Has Left the Ringside Area. Is now actively moving fans back away from the Jello pool as far and as fast as he can.)

STARS: Fucking hate quitters.

Kline capitalizes. He wraps the chain around his wrist and clocks Tommy across the face with a spinning backfist. Then, with everything he has left, he grabs Tommy by the throat and hoists him into the air. The chain rattles as Kline plants him with Crimson Dawn, a sitout chokeslam that lands just inches from the burning table.

STARS: Kline with the desperate Crimson Dawn! But he must not have had the strength to get him up to the table, so this match continues!

TODD: (Frantically gathering every fire extinguisher available in the vicinity in the background.)

Both men lie still for a long moment, smoke rising from the table nearby. Solomon pulls himself up with the ropes, dragging the chain with him. He tries to lift Tommy again, but Tommy comes alive and claws at his eyes, raking them deep. Solomon howls, blinded, and stumbles back.

Tommy whips the chain viciously across Solomon's back, leaving a line of welts. He yanks him by the collar and sends him flying into the steel ring steps. Then, with a devilish grin, he yanks Solomon up and flings him into the jello pool.

STARS: This match has everything! Blood, fire, chains, and now... blue raspberry carnage!

TODD: GET OUT OF HERE JIMMY! YOU’LL BE COOKED ALIVE!

STARS: And miss out on this perfect Birthday Wish match? Not a chance!

TODD: On second thought, you stay right there, Jim.

Tommy climbs onto the ring apron, waiting for Solomon to emerge. As the younger man stands in the jello, Tommy leaps with a flying lariat. Both men crash into the barricade, knocking over a stack of promotional signage from Hot Topic.

They rise slowly. Solomon lashes Tommy with the chain across the back. Once. Twice. Tommy retaliates with a suplex onto the mall floor, the chain coiling beneath them. Tommy locks in the F-Locker, an ankle lock modified with the chain tightening around Solomon's leg.

STARS: He's going to tear that ankle clean off! No tap-outs in this one, but that pain is real!

Aidan Collins rushes into view from the backstage area, yelling support.

AIDAN: Don’t quit, Sol! You’re not done!

TODD: Blizzard! Help me clear the fans out of here! That’s an entire kiddie pool full of gelatinous, nearly pure grain alcohol thanks to this dumbass!

AIDAN: Really? Oh, shit. On it!

Solomon claws toward the ring steps, dragging both himself and Tommy along. With a final burst, he kicks Tommy off and rolls away, clutching his leg.

Both men are slow to return to the ring, dragging the chain like corpses bound to one another. Solomon gets in first, wrapping the chain around his arm. As Tommy rises, he swings—Ashes to Ashes! A vicious forearm across the jaw.

STARS: Pfft. They’re missing a six-star classic. Oh well, their loss.

Solomon doesn’t wait. He slides back out of the ring, and sets up another flaming table at ringside, this one positioned straddling the ring and the barricade next to the jello pool. With a motion towards the pyrotechnician, this one, too, is lit ablaze. The flames lick at the steel rails, illuminating faces in the crowd.

STARS: Hey, Dwayne “Grok” Johnson, How flammable is pure alcohol in jello shot form?

(Searching. Searching. Results: found. Listing-)

STARS: Oh no. Ohhhh noooo…

Using the chain, he drags Tommy out onto the apron. They brawl above the fire, exchanging wild strikes. Tommy lands a forearm. Solomon hits a headbutt. The chain hangs below them like a noose. The crowd is on edge.

STARS: If either man slips, this whole place goes up!

TODD: AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT, ASSHOLE?!

STARS: I DIDN’T KNOW! JELLO SHOULD NOT BE FLAMMABLE!

TODD: IT ISN’T, UNLESS YOU USE PURE ALCOHOL TO MAKE IT!

STARS: FOR THE LAST TIME, I DIDN’T MAKE IT!

Tommy hooks Solomon for a suplex off the apron, but Solomon blocks it. He counters, hoists Tommy up onto the top turnbuckle. He follows. The crowd rises with him.

They fight at the top. One misstep means oblivion. Solomon headbutts. Then another. Blood trickles from his forehead.

He hooks the arms.

TODD: Not from up there... NO WAY!!

STARS: THIS IS MADNESS!

DUST TO DUST!

From the top rope to the floor, through the flaming table. Vertebreaker. The table explodes into ash and splinters as both men vanish beneath the blaze.

DING DING DING

WINNER AND STILL XWF 24/7 XTREME CHAMPION: SOLOMON KLINE!

STARS: SOLOMON KLINE JUST SENT TOMMY WISH STRAIGHT TO HELL! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOLOMON!

TODD: PIECES OF THE TABLE ARE FALLING INTO THE POOL! RUN JIMMY!

STARS: Very funny. You know I can’t run…

TODD: FUCKING DRIVE AWAY THEN!

Medical staff swarm in. Aidan reaches Solomon first and hauls him up from the wreckage, dragging his body away from the pool. Todd and the Security staff pull Tommy Wish clear from the pool as well, as Jimmy drives right up to it.

STARS: The kid did it. He walked through fire and legacy. On his birthday week. In front of the world.

The pool in front of Jimmy catches ablaze. It goes up like a rocket engine pointed in the wrong direction, a bright blue flame bursting upward toward the ceiling!

Jimmy is nearly knocked back off of his Hoveround, but it doesn’t take long for the fans, all armed with the various fire extinguishers Todd gathered, to help temper the blaze. Todd, being the absolute chad that he is, is able to throw the cover back over the kiddle pool, and with help from the extinguishers, smothers the blaze before it could burn down the entire mall and everyone in it.

TODD: Hey man, are you okay?

STARS: Uhh, yeah. That’s crazy, huh?

TODD: YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

STARS: I don’t know, man! I’m not much of a drinker, okay? Geez. How was I supposed to know?

TODD: UUGGHH!!!

The referees work to unhook Kline and Wish from each other. With both men now up, bloody, welted, and extinguished, they glance across at one another. Kline extends his hand in a gesture of respect. Wish reluctantly shakes it before walking off with his head down.

TODD: And there it is. It might not be a rose, but Kline followed through on giving Wish his flowers.

STARS: I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking we should do this match again sometime. I kinda liked their ideas all merged together!

TODD: You shut the fuck up!

STARS: But I-

TODD: YOU NEARLY BURNED DOWN THE ENTIRE MALL! ZIP IT!

STARS: Awww. Okay.

TODD: COMMERCIAL. NOW.

CUT TO: THE SECOND FLOOR

On the second floor of the Mall of America, people are seen eagerly waiting near a large black curtain. Beside it is Bobby Bourbon, wearing a bright fuschia tee that says “Slut” in contrasting eggshell white and a pair of purple camo cargo shorts.

XWF Universe and otherwise regular Minnesotans, welcome to the grand opening of my new retail kiosk!

I know what you're wondering.

How do you, as a No Good Bastard who embraces crass capitalism AND a member of the Revolution looking to broaden socialism, sleep at night?

On a pile of money, but only low denominations!

After all, it pays to be the High Holy Hypocrite of the Bastardly Father.

And that is why I am cutting out the middle man here today.

No longer do you have to find your local Dollar General, Family Dollar, or Dollar Tree to find the fine products from BourbCo.

You can now go to Minnesota!

Coming soon to a retail plaza near you, as well!

The curtain is pulled back, and we see the BourbCo Factory Direct Shop. All manner of boondoggles and tchotchkes adorn the kiosk with a bored attendant standing beside a register. TK is standing there extinguishing a cigarello.

That’s fuckin’ right Bobby.

We at BourbCo are pleased to give you, the consumer, everything you desire!

We have real Industrial Road Goop, as TK says it's the best made in Ohio!

When you need some Industrial Road Goop, think BourbCo, assholes, for all your needs.

We have General Purpose Little Green Doo-Dads, because how many times have you found yourself just wishing you had one of those?

TK holds up two handfuls of general purpose little green doo-dads.

We have our fine line of US Commercial Beef Pickled Sausage, which includes our popular Saffron Surprise and Chickeny Beef flavors.

TK eats a Spicy Dill flavored tube of meat.

Also, we’re unveiling our exciting array of testosterone booster.

That’s right, we will sell you hair and a better penis.

That’s right, folks, there's a fine lineup of merchandise that you, the consumer, never knew you needed until you saw famous people talk about it!

And we're the most famous tag team ever.

And the best part everything here costs just 1 Xbux.

The crowd gasps.

What?

Bobby, Xbux can only be earned by XWF wrasslers. They're extremely valuable.

They're wooden nickles. About as worth having a hotel on Boardwalk in Monopoly.

TK looks at Bobby, knowing he's never had a hotel on Boardwalk in Monopoly.

No, Bobby, they’re worth about $180 a pop.

Bobby's eyes widen, realizing he was opening a wave of kiosks full of extremely expensive merchandise.

Well our exclusive collection just can not be ignored once seen, we’re now just like Sharper Image instead of Five and Below.

I thought that's what you were going for the whole time, a high end gadget company for the upper middle class.

Bobby nods.

Now it is let's go with that.

Uplifting music starts to play.

At this time, we are going to honor the memory of a fallen member of the XWF roster.

That’s right, TK, we’re going to honor the memory of a man who competed in the XWF and was unceremoniously forgotten for years.

A massive banner drops in the middle of the XWF ring, or rather, it's a 21 banner salute throughout the Mall of America, as the visage of Steven “The Trooper” Cooper is seen by literally everyone in the building, everywhere.



Steven “The Trooper” Cooper was taken from us too soon from a rapid onset tumor, this warrior of the ring lost his final battle of cancer in, uh, what year?

Shit I don't remember. The thing is, Steven Cooper's career ended after facing us. And we care about him more than anybody.

More than anybody ever.

More than everybody ever. More than his partner, a sexual assault victim whom he mentored, more than his friend, Ned Kaye.

Whom he mentored.


Angel by Sara McLaughlin (Not Sarah Laughlin) begins to play throughout the Mall of America. The entire PA system. Every bathroom, every dressing room, every office.

Oh, and congrats on winning the JV Tag Straps Black Rainbow. I see you repping last year's model, but out with the old and in with the superior!



STARS: God, I love those guys.

TODD: Well, we’ve seen a couple matches get real harcore at the Mall of America! And we’re about to get another!

STARS: We already had an X-Treme title match… But we’re about to have two of the most X-Treme men in the XWF come out here to try and top a match with flaming tables, dog collars and jell-o! And with these two? I’d give ‘em even odds to do it!

HARDCORE HEAVEN FRANCES MARIGOLD - vs - MICHEAL GRAVES (CONCEIVABLY) (Non-Title) Tables Match An ominously large stack of tables will be set up precariously, suspiciously, in a spot where someone might get thrown from the second floor balcony for a dramatic finish!

Suddenly, there’s the strum of a banjo heard from off-stage…



Through the apron, bursts “Micheal Graves” (conceivably), Anarchy champion, sporting the “Dark Warrior” mask, and the belt on his shoulder.

STARS: Look at him, Todd! The man who beat the reigning, defending, blood-letting Universal champion! THE Top Champion of the XWF!

TODD: …’Graves’ is very impressive, Jimmy, but I think even he’d admit his victory last Anarchy over Charlie Nickles was, at best, controversial. After all, ‘Graves’ ‘won’ when he got Devil Hook Dropped, then fell out of the poorly made cage you had const-

STARS: THE XWF’S TOP CHAMPION OF THE XWF’S A-SHOW.

TODD: *sigh*Well, one thing can’t be denied. ‘Graves’ has been the longest reigning Anarchy champion in XWF history, 284 days… Over ten weeks longer than the last longest-reigning Anarchy champion, Sean Parker. [/blue]

As the banjo strings are plucked, ‘Graves’ strolls down the ramp… As an entourage follows him!

Irwin, Mark Flynn’s #1 fan is plucking the banjo, playing the folk song…

Behind *him* are the Students of Gravy.

Miss Furry paws at a triangle, which isn’t plugged into anything…

While Peter Parkour brings up the rear, holding a microphone…

Peter raises the mask over his lips and lifts the mic.

♫ You may think that you’re neutral ♫
♫  There are no neutrals though ♫
♫ You’re either with the wrestlers ♫
♫ Or a pawn of the CEOs ♫

The fans join in, knowing the chorus by heart…

WHICH SIDE ARE YOU OOOOOOOOOON? WHICH SIDE ARE YOU OOOOOOOOOON?

‘Graves’ continues to walk down the ramp to the beat, staring at the challenger in the ring… as the entourage behind him plays…

♫ The Boss wants us divided ♫
♫  He don’t want this song sung ♫
♫ But us wrestlers, we fight until ♫
♫ That final bell i-

”YEEEEEEAH! YOU’LL BE LEAVIN’ WITH A FAT LIP!”

CRASH!

TODD: “WAIT, WHAT THE—FRANCES MARIGOLD JUST HIT THE SCENE LIKE A ROGUE SHOPPING CART FROM HELL!”

STARS: “Say what you will about Frances Marigold, but he’s loud, which means he’s attention-drawing and he’s consistent, so his brand is clear!

TODD: He’s also constantly showing up to work drunk!

STARS: Which makes him an ideal endorsement figure for our liquor sponsors, Todd!”

Frances Marigold, blackout-drunk and laughing like a lunatic, rockets down the entryway in a stolen shopping cart, plowing straight into ’Graves’and his posse!

Irwin and his banjo go toppling into the front row… Parkour rides the shopping cart and gets flopped all the way under the ring! Miss Furry leaps like a cat onto the audience railing!

But ’Graves’ sails back off the ramp into an Orange Julius booth! kiosk, orange cream milkshake flies everywhere! Frances lands beside in a heap, immediately rising like nothing happened, teeth bloodied from the crash but grinning.

TODD: Holy cow! If you were worried about ‘Graves’ having the numbers game on his side, Marigold using that X-Treme shopping cart of his just levelled the playing field!

Frances jogs up to the cart and retakes the handle, dragging backwards with him what can only be described as a weaponized garage sale: a folded metal sign, a pogo stick, a heavy old VCR.

TODD: Where the hell does Marigold even find this stuff?

STARS: If I had to guess, the front yard of whatever trailer he just crawled out of.

‘Graves’ woozily crawls over the front of the Orange Julius kiosk, drenched in orange goop… Just as Marigold finishes heaving the shopping cart over the railing…

TODD: It looks like this action is going to get FURTHER from the ring… And that tower of tables!

STARS: Oh no! C’mon, go back towards the tables! Interns literally died making it!

‘Graves’ shakes his head, trying to get back into this one… Just as Marigold smashes the sign over Graves’ back!

‘Graves’ tries to crawl away, gripping onto the side of the neighboring Auntie Anne’s pretzel stand… when Marigold retrieves the pogo stick from the cart… then jabs the stick like a bayonet into the side of ’Graves’’ ribs, forcing a howl out of the masked technician! The Anarchy champ drops to his knees!

TODD: ‘Graves’ talked about how his recent matches have been ugly… And that trend might continue, Marigold has come out here looking dominantly X-Treme… and X-Tremely dominant!

STARS: That pogo stick spot brought to you by Sports Authority—wait, no, they’re dead. Just like Graves might be when Marigold’s through with him![/blue]

Frances lifts the pogo stick over the fallen ‘Graves’, looking to crack him over the head with it…

From the ground, ‘Graves’ kicks Frances in the shin! Marigold clumsily goes to grab his shin, then topples, losing his balance, falling face-first into the tile with a thud!

TODD: Something tells me Marigold couldn’t walk a straight line right now… Or touch his nose… Or say the alphabet backwards.

STARS: What are you, a cop?

As Marigold falls, ’Graves’ leaps on the opening, twisting Marigold up on his back, wrenching his  knee into Marigold’s back with a Surfboard Stretch right in front of a Panda Express.

TODD: That’s not an ankle you want to eat orange chicken near! Look at the torque!

STARS: If he breaks that leg, maybe we can sell a Frances Marigold action figure with a detachable knee.

Marigold grunts and growls, trying to power out of ‘Graves’’ hold… But ‘Graves’ simply technically shifts his grip to keep the hold tight!

STARS: Frances… can… break this… hold.

TODD: He can’t break that hold.

‘Graves’ uses his grip on Marigold to twist him like a pretzel off the tile… then ‘Gravy’ transitions seamlessly into a Belly-to-Back Suplex onto the cold marble floor, followed by a precise Knee Drop off a planter ledge to Frances' ribs!

‘Graves’ hooks a leg for the cover on the tiles! The official, who was standing in the ring while ‘Graves’ was entering and took this long to navigate the mall layout to get to the action, drops to count!

ONE!
TWO!!
THR-NO!

Marigold flops up at the last second, groaning something about Limp Bizkit.

TODD: It’s gonna take a lot more than that to take out Frances Marigold!

As ‘Graves’ yells at a referee about counting too slow, Frances drunkenly wandersinto an Abercrombie…

‘Graves’ spins around seeing his opponent, entering the store… He pursues!

…Just as Marigold slips back out… with a mannequin?

TODD: …What the HELL is this maniac up to?

STARS: No idea, Todd, but I guarantee whatever he’s doingm it’s clippable, shareable, and viral-able.

‘Graves’ charges, looking for a grapple…

But Marigold TEARS the arm off the mannequin! ‘Graves’’s eyes widen as he tries to put the brakes on…

WHACK—’Graves’ eats plastic elbow right between the eyes, as Marigold catches him with a stiff, plastic forearm to the face!

TODD: Frances just used fashion-forward self-expression as blunt force trauma!

STARS: I’ve never seen domestic retail violence used like this… This is ART.

TODD: ‘Graves’ might need yet *another* concussion check after this match!


‘Graves’ staggers backwards into the wall… He pushes off woozily, and Marigold delivers a Flapjack onto a mall cop's podium. Then, spotting opportunity, Marigold climbs up the podium, hops off, and hits a leg drop across Graves’ chest.

TODD: This one has been all Marigold so far!

STARS: Who would have figured that chaos in human form would thrive in a match designed to be chaotic!

Marigold latches an arm onto ‘Graves’ chest… The official counts!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO! ‘Graves’ forces a shoulder off the tile..

Marigold burps, shoving himself off the tile floor… He’s momentarily distracted by a smell… of cinnamon!

Like a drunken bear distracted by a balloon, Marigold scoops himself off the ground and wanders to a cart serving Auntie Anne’s pretzels!

TODD: Hey Jimmy, how much is XWF taking for product placement this episode?

STARS: Let’s just say my wheelchair is about to have solid gold spinners after all the checks clear.

‘Graves’ woozily shoves himself off the floort… Just as Frances returns with a churro, snapping a bite off it. Frances takes the remaining churro, and tries to bring it across ‘Graves’ throat from behind like piano wire!

…It snaps in half!

TODD: …Well that was dumb!

STARS: Hey part of being on the cutting edge of violence is not every idea is gonna work.

Marigold looks down at his halved churro, trying to figure out why something that would’ve worked in a Looney Tunes cartoon didn’t work here… When ‘Graves’ scrambles from his knees and drives his shoulder forward, tackling Frances through the Auntie Anne’s cart!

The whole cart topples over on its side! Nacho cheese leaks like blood from a gored nacho gazelle!

TODD: Hey Jimmy, is the XWF insured for property damage to the mall?

STARS: …Noooooo, my rims! My solid gold rims!

…’Graves’ rises up first, cradling his gut, trying to get his bearings…

When Marigold rises from the mechanical wreckage, looking unaffected… except for the pre-existing drunkenness.

TODD: If you’d told me Marigold would beat the Anarchy champion tonight, I’d have called you crazy! But this stipulation perfectly serves Frances Marigold! And ‘Graves’ can’t seem to do anything to put a dent in this alcoholic Terminator!

‘Graves’ exhaustedly stumbles up to a Directory stand, catching his breath…

Marigold pulls himself out of what little remains of the Auntie Anne’s stand, and drunkenly charges after ‘Graves’...

‘Graves’ spins around…

AND CATCHES the running Marigold

Counter Powerslam THROUGH THE KIOSK! It folds like cardboard as two men drive themselves through it!

STARS: Oh my God, stop breaking things! This is all coming out of my profits!

TODD: Jimmy, I was kidding. The legal department definitely would have had the stores sign indemnification clauses.

STARS: ..Oh. KEEP BREAKING STUFF! IT’S ENTERTAINING!

As Marigold cradles his aching back, surrounded by fiber glass from the shattered Directory stand… ‘Graves’ grabs Frances by the scruff of the neck and drags him over to the escalator…

He lifts Marigold up…

THEN ATOMIC DROPS GROIN FIRST HIM on the escalator’s silver railing… Marigold covers his ‘treble clefs’ in agony as Graves backs up…

CRACK!
KNEE TO THE SKULL! COUNTERPOINT!

Frances slumps over, his head bobbing like a ragdoll.

TODD: It took a while to get here but ‘Graves’ has finally gotten out of the gate! Marigold looks like he’s in trouble now!

STARS: ‘Graves’ said he wanted Marigold to re-baptize him in blood! To help him find the song he used to know by heart! And this ‘Graves’ is looking absolutely VICIOUS!

‘Graves’ eyes the massive tower of tables stacked like a vertical death sandwich by the food court’s edge. He grabs Marigold by the hair and drags him up the bottom of the escalator…

TODD: Oh my! ‘Graves’ looking with bad intentions at that tower of tables beside the ring!

STARS: Yessss, YESSSSSSSS!

As ‘Graves’ grips Marigold by the head dragging him to the escalator past the food court trash cans… Marigold grabs a plate a customer left atop the trash can, covered in Sbarro pizza grease…

‘Graves’ goes to huck Frances up the escalator… When Frances SMACKS ‘Graves’ with the plate, covering the Dark Warrior mask in grease!

‘Graves’ slips backwards into the escalator… And jerks in panic, trapped! The iconic Micheal Graves coat… has gotten caught in the escalator belt!

TODD: ‘Graves’ famous hobo coat! Inopportunely caught in the escalator!

STARS: That coat may never be usable again! And if half the things I’ve heard about that coat are true, they’re gonna have to burn that escalator down and exorcise the ashes.

‘Graves’ desperately tries to pull the jacket out of the belt… When Francesfalls upon him, wailing away with fists, holding a wet napkin in one hand and muttering something about “Fred said this would happen.”

The two continue up the escalator, with Frances pummelling ‘Graves’, who can’t even lift his arm to block the blows as the escalator chews on more and more of ‘Graves’’ coat sleeve!

TODD: We’re entering the second floor, Jimmy! Which means that tower of tables is looking all the more promising!

As they reach the top of the escalator… the escalator hungrily growls, ready to eat ‘Graves’’s whole arm!

Frances keeps drunkenly wailing on ‘Graves’’ head…

‘Graves’, out of desperation, judo throws Marigold behind him off the elevator…

AND YANKS HIS ARM OUT OF THE JACKET!

‘Graves’ narrowly crawls to satisfy, untangling himself from the coat as the escalator CONSUMES IT WHOLE…

Before sputtering and dying!

A mall janitor walks up, places the out-of-order belt on the escalator and walks away.

TODD: Safety first kids!

STARS: Do you really need to put a safety belt on a broken elevator? Isn’t it just stairs now?

‘Graves’ crawls out of the escalator’s grip like a man escaping a burning building…

Only to walk face-first into a raging Frances Marigold, who scoops him off the floor and LAUNCHES him by the collar through the glass-and-chrome frame of a Sunglass Hut kiosk.

CRASH!!!

TODD: If Frances wins this match, his future’s gonna be so bright, he’ll need those shades!

As Graves groans in the wreckage, Frances pulls himself out of the heap. He pauses… spots a mostly-intact pair of mirrored aviators on a busted display rack, and slips them on with dramatic flair.

STARS: This man is marketing gold, Todd. Get him on a sticker, a poster, a coffee thermos—I don’t care!

TODD: If the drunken terminator aesthetic wasn’t already there, the sunglasses really do complete the picture.

Frances tilts the shades downward as ‘Graves’ lies in the wreckage of the Sunglass Hut… Marigold grabs him by the back of the neck and throws Graves into a Hot Topic, where Graves briefly rallies by choking Frances with a belt chain off a faux-punk mannequin, before eating a stomp onto a rack of vinyl Funko Pops.

They spill into Victoria’s Secret, where the fight turns surreal—lace and fury in equal measure. Graves uses a silk robe to attempt a surfboard submission, while Frances blindly flails, grabbing what turns out to be a scented candle, and SMASHES it into Graves’ ribs with a muted thunk.

TODD: He’s using Eau de Violence!

STARS: This might be the first bra-and-bloodbath in mall history! …Actually, no—second. Westfield, 2012.

The two men exhaustedly stumble out of the Victoria’s Secret, scraped raw and sweating, stagger near the second-floor railing, just over the ominous, teetering tower of tables two stories below!

TODD: They’re RIGHT ABOVE IT! That monument of plywood and bad ideas! Somebody stop this!

STARS: If anyone tries to stop this, they’re fired! Beyond fired! Super fired!

Frances wipes blood from his nose, the shades still clinging miraculously to his face. He pulls Graves into a clinch, grunting with effort as he sets up for something truly vile—arms wrapped tight, shoulders hunched low—

TODD: Wait, WAIT—he’s going for the No Cushion Piledriver?! FROM THE BALCONY?!

STARS: Oh my God… THE RATINGS! DO IT! DO IIIIIIIIIIT!

The crowd surges forward, gasping and screaming, phones raised, as Frances tries to heave Graves into position, right on the edge…

Just as Frances Marigold prepares to dump Micheal Graves from the heavens with a No Cushion Piledriver, Graves thrashes in desperation—a sudden back body drop sends Marigold tumbling onto but not over the railing!

TODD: HE’S STILL ON! He’s still ON! Marigold’s hanging on like a man trying to keep his soul in his body!

STARS: I know we joked on Marigold earlier for running on cartoon logic, but I *swear* he hung in the air for a second like Wil E. Coyote before clinging on to that railing!

Graves, bloodied and breathing hard, lunges at Marigold, smashing him with wild, panicked right hands. Frances groans and clings to the metal bar, blood dripping off his fingertips… before he throws his skull forward in one last brutal headbutt, knocking Graves’ mask askew and spinning him back.

Frances hauls himself back over the railing like a man climbing out of hell. Still wearing the cracked sunglasses. Still grinning.

TODD: Phew, close call for Frances, he was on the cusp of a twenty foot fall there… But somehow, some way, he manages to cling on and get away from the tower of tables!

STARS: Booooooo, GO BACK TO THE TABLES!

Marigold roars and CHARGES the broken Anarchy champion…

But Graves catches him in midair—a pure survival instinct—
DESPERATION COUNTER POWERSLAM!! Right onto the polished tile!

The echo is sickening.

TODD: That floor wasn’t meant to catch people. That floor was meant to look nice under flip-flops.

STARS: Flip-flops you can find at the Mall of America’s Designer Shoe Warehouse!

TODD: Jimmy, are you plugging even more products?

STARS: Hey, some of these people agreed to bonus pay if they came up! Someone’s gotta keep the lights on!

Graves, dazed, barely upright, hauls Frances back to his feet. But Frances shakes loose, and like a wounded bull, gore-rushes Graves again!

AND THEY BOTH GO OVER THE RAILING!

They dangle. Dangle.

The crowd SCREAMS.

Graves clings to the railing by one arm, his feet scrambling against air. Marigold is on his back, arms wrapped around Graves’ torso, trying to ride him to safety—or doom.

Graves slams a fist into Frances’ temple. Another. Frances’ grip loosens…

Graves looks down. Then at Frances. Then at the tower of tables below.

TODD: No. No, please don’t…

STARS: DO IT. DO IIIIIIIIIIIT!

Frances’ eyes flutter open. He sees Graves looking. He knows.

And then… he nods.

A slow, sadistic, accepting nod.

And he smiles.

TODD: Oh my god. He wants it. HE WANTS IT.

STARS: HE WANTS IT! ‘GRAVES’ WANTS IT. I WANT IT. DO IT!

Graves wraps a front facelock… steadies himself… LIFTS—

AND THEY BOTH GO OVER!!!

THE END!!! THROUGH THE TOWER OF TABLES!!!

CRAAAAAAAAAAASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

WOOD SPLINTERS. METAL SNAPS. THE CROWD LOSES THEIR MINDS.

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”

TODD: Oh my god… Oh my GOD…

STARS: …You ever picture something in your head and it wasn’t as good as you thought it would be live?

…

STARS: Doesn’t apply here. That was SPECTACULAR!

Officials swarm the wreckage. A medic drops his clipboard. A fan faints. Security tries to hold back the mob. Somewhere, a phone alarm is going off and no one knows whose it is.

TODD: The tower of tables is absolutely devastated! It’s just a pile of broken, collapsed wood! I can’t even see ‘Graves’ and Marigold in the debris!

The officials dig into the debris—

One of them spots something.

A hand. Draped across a body.

The referee checks. He counts.

ONE!

TWO!!

THREE!!!

Todd: “NO WAY! THERE’S A WINNER! THERE’S ACTUALLY A WINNER!”

WINNER:...

…



……

WINNER: ‘MICHEAL GRAVES’

Graves’ body is still, his arm draped over Marigold’s motionless chest.

Both men are unconscious. The masked face of Graves barely visible, cracked and crooked. Frances’ shades are still—somehow—on his face, one lens shattered.

The wreckage surrounds them like a modern art sculpture in tribute to absolute annihilation.

STARS: I don’t care how much this costs us in lawsuits… That’s the kind of performance I can build a damn brand on.

TODD: Well, ‘Graves’ wanted to be baptized in blood… And I gotta tell ya, this mall is buzzing with X-Treme fervor! This feels like an X-Treme Rules religious revival!

STARS: Quick, pass a collection plate around!

ONE LAST LITTLE BREAK TO CLEAN UP ALL THE BLOOD - WE MEAN PEOPLE JUICE

TODD: Ladies and gentlemen… After all this time… it is now finally  time… for your MAIN EVENT! And it is a Twin-City Contendership Match!

The arena darkens as a golden spotlight hits the stage.

RING ANNOUNCER: Introducing first… hailing from TORONTO, ONTARIO, CANADA… He is the reigning XWF Revolution Champion… He is “THE ONE… THE ONLY… THE KING”… JUSTINNNNNNN YOOOOORK!



"One for the Money" hits the PA as golden pyro blasts from either side of the stage. Justin York emerges in a jewel-encrusted crown and white-gold jacket, soaking in the cacophony of boos with a devilish smirk. Draped in a Canadian flag and with the Revolution Championship glistening around his waist, York adjusts his crown, struts down the ramp, and refuses to acknowledge fans.

Behind him, walking with disinterest, is Pro-Wrestling Valor World Champion Alex Raven. Dressed in black, with the PWValor belt over his shoulder and a look of reluctant obligation, Raven walks at his own pace. He never smiles, never claps, never cheers.

STARS: There’s OUR champ! And he’s got Pro Wrestling Valor’s Champ with him! WELCOME TO INDEPENDENCE EVE ANARCHY - ALEXANDER RAVEN!!!

TODD: Why does he look like he doesn’t want to be here?

STARS: He doesn’t, Todd. Ninety-thousand pages. That’s how long his Valor contract is. And you know somewhere in there it says "Don’t smile at York. Don’t clap for York. Just stand around and make sure Bobby Bourbon doesn’t punch York."

TODD: Well, for one, absolutely not signing anything that’s 90 thousand pages long. Second, you honestly think this contingency was covered in Alexander Raven’s contract? That he’d one day have to play bodyguard for Justin York on an episode of XWF Anarchy?

STARS: Absolutely. He’s here, ain’t he?

York enters the ring, climbs the middle turnbuckle, and raises his arms high—middle fingers extended to the crowd.

TODD: The people are letting him have it tonight.

STARS: They don’t boo royalty unless they’re jealous, Todd. That’s why we had a revolution in the first place. It all starts with being ungrateful towards your King.

TODD: …

STARS: I mean, King Chucklefuck had it coming. King York has literally done nothing wrong.

TODD: Nothing. Right.

York hands off his crown and title to the timekeeper and loosens up in the corner, barking instructions to Raven, who stands stone-faced at ringside.

RING ANNOUNCER: And his opponent… representing the No Good Bastards… he is ONE HALF of the reigning Anarchy Tag Team Champions… THIS. IS. THUNNNNDERRRR KNUCKLESSSSSS!



"I need a Dollar - Good Things" rips through the Mall of America Rotunda as the silky smooth voice of Aloe Blacc hits the air. Thunder Knuckles marches through the curtain in his signature wraparound shades and mullet bouncing with every step. Beside him, clad in a neon fuchsia “SLUT” tee and purple camo shorts, is the ever-unpredictable Bobby Bourbon, hyping up the crowd with a fresh can of Industrial Road Goop.

TK snuffs out a cigarello before stomping toward the ring. He flips off a teenager in the front row, signs a woman’s cleavage with a Sharpie, and climbs onto the apron before slingshotting into the ring.

STARS: Let’s goooooo! That’s my fucking guy!

TODD: Of course you’re rooting for Thunder Knuckles.

STARS: That man co-invented Industrial Road Goop, Todd. That’s a hero if I ever saw one!

TODD: I’ve been trying to get the smell of that stuff out of my sinuses since earlier today.

STARS: Fuck your beta sinuses, Todd. That’s shit’s a miracle of modern chemistry. We could have used it to put out the fire, I bet.

TODD: Oh God… the smell would have been atrocious.

STARS: Not much better than what I deal with on the daily with YOU, Todd.

TODD: Nice.

TK poses in the center of the ring, flexing dramatically while Bobby yells at Raven from across the ringside area.

As the two competitors stare each other down, tensions rising…

The lights suddenly cut out.

TODD: What the hell?

STARS: Uh… power outage? One of those interns in the BourbCo kiosk trip the breaker again?

TODD: What do you mean, again?

STARS: Might have had some technical difficulties earlier.

TODD: I don’t think it’s that… listen!

"DEMONS" by Tech N9ne hits the speakers.

The crowd ERUPTS.

A massive burst of pyro lights up the entrance stage as a silhouette appears behind the flames.

STARS: OH MY GOD—

TODD: IT’S JAMES SHARK!

As the chorus drops, Shark struts out shirtless, chains swinging, smirk cocked like a loaded weapon. He talks trash the entire walk down the ramp, soaking in the mixed reaction from the crowd. He circles the ring, stares down York, flashes a grin, and slides behind the commentary table.

SHARK (grabbing a headset): Move the fuck over.

TODD: What are you doing here, Shark?

SHARK: The fuck it look like I’m doin’? I’m joining you hoes on the booth tonight. Jimmy extended the invite and I aint had nothin’ better to do. Besides, I’m tryna see if York still thinks he’s hot shit after I slept him last week.

STARS: Ladies and gentlemen, THEE James FUCKING Shark joins us on commentary for the main event!

SHARK: You welcome.

With all players in position—York, TK, Bourbon, Raven, and now James Shark—the referee signals for the bell.

TWIN CITY CONTENDERSHIP MATCH (Non-Title) "KING" JUSTIN YORK w/ PWV’s Alexander Raven at Ringside - vs - THUNDER KNUCKLES w/ TNGB’s Bobby Bourbon at Ringside Singles w/Valet If Thunder Knuckles wins: Gains Future Revolution Championship Opportunity If Justin York wins: Gains Future Anarchy Tag Team Championship Opportunity

DING DING DING!

Thunder Knuckles charges across the ring like a missile, launching fists into York’s jaw before the Revolution Champion can even raise his guard. The crowd pops huge as the first volley connects clean. TK doesn’t let up—he bounces York off the ropes and flattens him with a big-time back elbow.

STARS: That’s what I’m talking about! TK didn’t come here to play footsies.

SHARK: York already eatin’ elbows, c’mon bruh, he lucky that wasn’t mines.

York rolls outside immediately to regroup, barking at Raven while holding his jaw. TK leans over the ropes and yells something about “free samples at the kiosk.” Bourbon circles like a vulture nearby, making sure Raven doesn’t so much as twitch in York’s defense.

Raven’s eyes lock on Bourbon, but he doesn’t move. He simply folds his arms and watches, the PWValor World Title glinting on his shoulder like an accessory he’d rather not have to explain.

York gets back onto the apron, only to eat a right hand that sends him crashing back to the floor.

TODD: Thunder Knuckles is out here treating the Revolution Champ like he’s a discount pretzel sample from Auntie Anne’s!

SHARK: That’s an insult to pretzels, homie.

STARS: He’s rattled, Todd! I told you—this is TK’s world. York just rents space in it and probably ends up paying like… AirBnB prices. Haha..

TODD: …

STARS: Shut up, Todd!

TODD: But I didn’t say anything?

Back in the ring, TK hauls York up by the hair and plants him with a stiff side suplex. He slides over for a lateral press, not for a pin, but to lean in and slap York right across the mouth. The crowd erupts again. York scrambles back to his feet and shoves TK hard. Thunder Knuckles smirks and winds up, but York ducks, spins, and nails a quick belly to belly suplex, taking the Bastard off his feet. York grabs the leg and kicks the back of the knee repeatedly, trying to ground TK.

TODD: Smart strategy by Justin York here. He’s targeting the base.

SHARK: Only thing York be good at is playin’ it safe.

STARS: Or playing it pretty. Look at that gear. I mean, we get it, right? You’re Canadian. You’re from Canada!

SHARK: Settle down, Jim.

TODD: You’re clearly trying way too hard to impress Mister Shark. Why don’t you relax a little?

STARS: Why don’t you shut the fuck up a little?

York traps the leg and drops an elbow across the thigh. He repeats it. Then transitions to a rolling knee bar, wrenching it in as TK thrashes. Bourbon climbs onto the apron, shouting, but Raven simply steps forward—cool and calm—and stares him down.

TODD: You’ve gotta admit, Raven’s keeping Bobby in check.

STARS: Yeah, but for how long? Bobby’s got the attention span of a flea.

SHARK: Don’t let those hideous clown shorts fool you. Bobby’s the dangerous one here.

TK finally rolls to the ropes. York breaks the hold, smirking like he just checkmated Magnus Carlsen. He struts back to the center ring, throwing up a finger-gun salute to Shark.

SHARK: That’s the same finger he digs in his butthole with. Look, he so proud of it. (Takes headset off momentarily) You can finger me all you want but I’m your daddy at the end of the day….. Shit, pause. (Slowly puts headset back on)

TODD: The tension here is palpable.

SHARK: Ya… whatever that mean.

STARS: It means Todd thinks you’re gonna bust these fools up any second now, Main Event or not!

York turns back to TK, who explodes upward with a huge uppercut—followed by a short-arm lariat that flips York inside out!

The crowd roars.

Bourbon loses his damn mind at ringside, flinging a free can of Industrial Road Goop into the crowd and offering even more freebies from the kiosk to anyone who is cheering his partner.

STARS: YES! DROP HIM AGAIN!

SHARK: Knock his ego loose so I can see it roll under the table.

STARS: I just wanted a free Road Goop.

TK pulls York up for the Full Nelson Slam, slamming him down hard and rolling straight into a cover...



ONE!



TWO!



TH-Kickout!

TODD: Near fall!

STARS: Yes Todd. We have eyes. We all saw how close that was! DUH!

TK doesn’t let up. He peels York off the mat, yanks him up by the waistband, and with a grunt and heave, he hoists York right up onto his shoulders, and launches him straight down onto the back of his neck with a stiff Alabama Slam!

The ring shakes. Raven raises an eyebrow. York doesn’t move after the vicious impact!

TODD: We might be looking at a new contender for the Revolution title right here!

SHARK: Good. I’ll hand TK the Revolution title myself if it gets York off my screen.

TK wipes sweat from his brow, nods to Bobby, and mouths the words: Let’s end this shit.

TK climbs to the top rope — rare territory for the Bastard — but York kips up and sprints toward him. A well-placed jumping enziguri staggers TK, and York leaps up after him. Superplex! The whole ring trembles as both men crash to the mat. York clutches his back in pain but scrambles over for a cover.



ONE!



TWO!!!




THR-Kickout!

York screams at the referee, slapping the mat in frustration.

TODD: Our Revolution Champion Justin York nearly snatched victory from the jaws of defeat here!

STARS: You love to see it. Except when it’s at Thunder Knuckles expense. I mean, I do like Justin York, I really do. I just wish we all could get along more.

SHARK: I think I heard TK say, “That’s it?” when he kicked out.

STARS: That man is low-key such a beast though.

TODD: That impact was vicious though! You can never count Justin York out of a fight!

York drags TK up and whips him to the ropes — but TK rebounds with a surprise leaping lariat that sends both men tumbling to the canvas.

On the outside, Bourbon gets the crowd behind TK by chanting “VALOR SUCKS!” as loud as possible. A small “PWV!” chant also breaks out from the top floor. It seems the fans inside the Mall of America here are divided as to what side they’re on.

TODD: They’re… the fans are chanting for both federations here. I think the takeover is officially in effect, James, Jim.

STARS: And they’re doing it at my show. So we obviously win! Right?

TODD: That’s… not how it works.

York crawls to the ropes, grabs them, and uses them to yank himself to his feet. TK lunges at him, but York low-bridges and TK tumbles to the outside, landing hard in front of Raven.

Raven looks down.

He does nothing.

Bourbon starts to move in, but Raven cuts him off with a single icy glare. Bobby looks like he might throw down with Alexander Raven right here, right now if Raven makes a move on TK. But Raven doesn’t seem to be interested in hindering, or helping, Thunder Knuckles in any way.

TODD: Raven doing his job—grudgingly, but effectively.

STARS: I think Bobby Bourbon just realized why the folks in Valor call Alex Raven ‘The Apex’. He needs to stop worrying about him and get over there and make sure TK is OK.

SHARK: Yeah, but Bobby ain’t got the balls to deck Alex. Not without readin’ page 45,331 of that contract first.

York waits until TK rises, then sprints and dives through the ropes — suicide dive! Both men crash into the guardrail. York pops up first and throws up double middle fingers to Shark.

SHARK: That’s cute. He upgraded to two fingers now. Butthole expanding and all. AY BRUH, I DON’T CARE - I’M THE REASON YOU NOT DOUBLE CHAMP!

York tosses TK back into the ring and calls for the end. He lifts TK for the Killzone — Canadian Brainbuster — but TK knees him in the head mid-lift! York drops him.

TK retaliates with a stiff boot to the gut and charges York for a massive double knee strike into the corner!

York eats turnbuckle and staggers backward into TK’s arms — SIDE RUSSIAN LEG SWEEP!

TODD: That might be it!

STARS: DO IT FOR STEVEN COOPER!

SHARK: WHO?

TK covers!



ONE!




TWO!!




THREE– no! YORK KICKS OUT AT 2 and 7/8ths!!

Thunder Knuckles looks up at the referee and for a moment, disagrees about the particular nature of the count. In the meantime, York rolls out of the ring, barely conscious, right to the feet of Alexander Raven.

SHARK: I told you! Bro’s got his boy to run to! Always something!

TK gets in the ref’s face, pointing at Raven. Raven, in the meantime, simply shrugs as he has done nothing to actually help his boss. Raven has literally nothing but stand there the entire time. Bourbon circles wide—he’s got a sausage link in one hand and a flask in the other.

York crawls under the ring.

TODD: What’s he doing—wait—

He emerges with a gold-plated steel chair. The same one he used against Shark two weeks ago.

STARS: Uh oh. That’s not an XWF-issued chair. I’d know, trust me.

SHARK: That’s my chair!

STARS: Oh really? Then why’d you leave it under my ring?

As TK turns around, York swings—TK ducks! Boot to the gut! The chair goes flying! TK lifts York— POWERSLAM ONTO THE GOLDEN CHAIR!

STARS: RIGHT ON THOSE INJURED RIBBIES! OH NO!

TODD: That’s it! That’s got to be a Disqualification!

STARS: Nah, we ain’t doing my boy TK like that! York brought the chair into the ring… it clearly just happened to accidentally be in the way of the mat during Knuckles’ thunderous slam!

TODD: He literally AIMED FOR IT!

STARS: PROVE IT!

TODD: I WATCHED IT WITH MY OWN TWO EYES!

Shark jumps up to his feet.

SHARK: Yo! End this shit!

York wobbles to his feet — he turns and charges towards TK! TK fires off with a superkick, NO! YORK DUCKS! He spins TK around and catches him with a kick to the gut. York goes to hook TK’s arms one at a time, he’s looking for the KINGS THRONE! HE LIFTS TK UP… NO! TK blocks it! He back body drops Justin York over… but YORK LANDS ON HIS FEET! YORK CHARGES FROM BEHIND-

BUT TK TURNS AND CATCHES HIM WITH A SNAP SUPERKICK RIGHT ON THE CHIN!

YORK HITS THE MAT LIKE A TON OF BRICKS!

TK FALLS ON TOP OF HIM!



ONE!




TWO!!



THREE!!!

DING DING DING!

WINNER AND FUTURE XWF REVOLUTION CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE OPPORTUNITY RECIPIENT: THUNDER KNUCKLES

STARS: THUNDER KNUCKLES DID IT! He earned his shot at the Revolution Championship!

SHARK: He better not cash it in while I’m watching.

Raven doesn’t react other than offering a golf clap. He just walks up the ramp, ignoring York laying on the mat.

TODD: Wait, is Shark—

Shark rips off his headset and slides into the ring. He gets face to face with Thunder Knuckles, with the Revolution Champion laying just beneath them.

SHARK: I’ll see you soon. The Revolution is bout to be mine. Ya feel me?

Shark stares down TK as Bobby moves forward to stand point right beside his tag team partner. Justin York is starting to come to and is handed his Revolution Championship title belt, but must look up at the three men standing above him, all ready to take another piece of each other whenever the opportunity strikes!

TODD: Thunder Knuckles wins tonight. But I’ve got a feeling he just lit another fuse… James Shark smells blood in the water!

STARS: What do you expect? It’s Anarchy! It’s Independence Eve… and the REVOLUTION of the Jimmy Stars era has just begun!

TODD: Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Todd Moschitti and that’s Jimmy Stars… and that’s all the time we’ve got for this evening! SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR LEAP OF FAITH! GOODNIGHT!

STARS: Time to press the button?

TODD: What button?

The four men stand in opposite corners, none of them willing to budge…

When fireworks go off inside the Mall-

When they were supposed to go off outside the mall-

TODD: WHAT THE FUCK JIMMY?!

STARS: Damn unpaid interns. They’re as bad as fucking Nirvana, I swear!

As the XWF logo fades over the screen…

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Another HUGE Thank You Goes To: Match Writers/Support Staff: YORKIE IRDAWGS HERO A BARRY MASTERSON REFERENCE? LIAMS ALIVE, BEATING HEART <3 THAD DADDY PAPA SHARK DO DO DODODO DO & Jimmy Motherfuckin’ Stars Segment Writers: President Nickles (Charles for Short) A No Good Bastard (Bobby B! & maybe TK! too!) Double Moose (JY) Daddeus Duke (TD) The Black Rainbow - Doctor Cambric’s Orders! Allegedly, Conceivably Another Barry Masterson Reference? Hammerhead Shark/Summer SZN RPers: You Your friends Your friends friends And all the people who love and support your silly hobby “Pfft. They’re missing a six-star classic. Oh well, their loss.” See you in all at LEAP OF FAITH Where we'll do it all again- Much Love for you All- Our XWF Community